Don't Let Me Fall for You: REWRITTEN
by MASHlover23
Summary: Klinger has a secret as to why he despises war so much, and why he acts the way he does. When his old flame shows up at the 4077th, and he sees her falling for a young surgeon from Boston - how will he handle it?
1. A Tainted Keepsake

**A/N: Well hello there! First off, I'd like to thank you if you read the older version of this fic, and have decided to try out the new (hopefully improved) version. I will definitely use chunks from the old fic, but there will also be several new add on's such this opening chapter. **

**If you are new to my story, thanks for wanting to give it a whirl! A lot things may not make sense in the beginning chapters, but all of the piece will all fit together and make sense eventually! **

**Please leave a review if you have any thoughts/constructive criticism.**

**Disclaimer:  I do not own M*A*S*H - only my OC's and their story lines.  
**

* * *

Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger was taking a load off of his pastel blue, five inch tall pumps, on a bench in the hallway between the O.R and Pre-Op.

Sweat dampened the fabric of Klinger's short sleeved yellow sundress under the armpits, and also all of the way down his spine. It was even daring enough to invade his bloomers. It was pretty safe to say that Klinger felt – and especially smelt – awful.

It was the beginning of May, and Korea was as hot as hell. No wait, scratch that – _it was hotter than hell._

Even with Klinger's desert heritage, he found the thick humidity and mercury breaking temperatures unbearable. If this was just the beginning of the summer, he couldn't even imagine what horrors the Korean climate has in store for July and August.

"_Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like you to think back to forty minutes ago when there was a U.N style shindig happening in the compound. Well guess what? It's time to put on your party hats and boogie once more – wounded arriving by bus and chopper!" _

An exhausted sigh escaped Klinger's lips at the grimly sarcastic, P.A. announcement. He had been on duty for eleven hours already – the last thing he wanted to hear was that the 4077th was going to be receiving more casualties.

His biceps were so overworked that they didn't even burn anymore. Instead, it felt like he had two ginormous sausage casings stuffed with gelatin, stemming outward from both of his shoulders.

Klinger's lower back was so stiff that he was sure he'd be in pain for at least a day or two afterwards.

Just like clockwork, a stream of corpsmen and nurses flooded out of the O.R. and Pre-Op. As they stampeded toward the set of doors that led outside to the compound; Klinger gave himself a mental pep talk.

This was war. Whether he liked it or not – he was stuck being a part of it.

Even though Klinger was only a corpsmen, he found a bit of comfort in knowing that his part in the war helped save lives, as opposed to take them away.

That being said, Klinger was still very unhappy...

Dropping his entire life and hauling his twenty-nine year old self, halfway across the world, was by no means his idea. He had his own stupidity and Uncle Sam to thank for this lovely vacation. There were at least a million other things he would rather do, than haul bloody bodies to and fro like some sorta pack mule. Peeling potatoes, and marching around at all hours of the night with a rifle slung across his shoulder were also far down on the list.

Since the second Klinger had opened that damned letter from his Draft board; he vowed to utilize every cell he had in his brain to think up a scheme, to get him out of the mess.

He had mentally kicked himself in the butt more than once since he had shipped out to, Korea. Why didn't he just suck it up seven or eight years prior, and enlist during the last war?

What was the worst that could have happened? Sign up early for the infantry and after suffering through basic training; request to be assigned to some low-grade, rear echelon post.

There would have probably been several openings for a man like him, because people were more gung-ho about defending America back then. Most of the men signing up wanted to be with the Marines or the paratroopers, so they could part of the frontline action and defeat the Germans or the Japs.

"Corporal Klinger, you get up off of that bench in three seconds or else you are going to be wearing my boot print on your backside!" The shrill sound of Major Houlihan's voice was enough to bring Klinger out of his fog.

"Yes _sir_," Klinger grumbled, intentionally addressing her by the wrong sex.

He had only been in the service for eight months, but he had found that Major Houlihan was a tougher, more rigid officer, than almost all of the other male officers he had encountered. It was fairly safe to say that Klinger was intimidated by the woman. However, the way she and Major Burns constantly treat the enlisted men like they are some sort primitive, alien lifeforms; made Klinger not respect her authority.

Burns and Houlihan were always on Colonel Blake's case about how Klinger's, lunatic antics and cross-dressing were a threat to the morale of the unit. The always went out of their way to point out the fact that his behaviour was "perverse"… Like he really cared what a couple of General Patton wannabe's thought!

Klinger knew what kind of man he was – a man that didn't want to be destroyed by the venomous viper of war.

War had taken away everything cared about once before. He knew how it could cripple the bodies and spirits of the men and women in the service. Moreover, Klinger knew how it had the power to crush the lives of their loved ones back home.

The civilian female clothes, he crazy stunts, manic moods and general effrontery were all just an act. He would do anything it took to escape the fate of being another sad, statistic of war.

"What did you just call me?" Major Houlihan exclaimed as Klinger stood up. She would not stand to have her status disrespected by the likes of Corporal Klinger.

"Nothing Major," Klinger sighed as she pushed past her, and headed toward the doors that lead out to the compound - he was far too tired to argue with the Major.

Once outside, Klinger stood still for a minute and scanned the compound. There were at least a dozen bloody bodies lying on stretchers on the ground, waiting to be assessed for triage and hauled into Pre-Op.

It took only a few seconds before Nurse Kelley bellowed out his name, and motioned for him to come over to where she was at.

Here we go again.

"Klinger, this one is a low level priority. Dr. McIntyre said to tell Pre-Op, to start him on a saline and penicillin IV," Kelley repeated the instructions she was told, as Klinger positioned himself in front of the stretcher handles by the head of the patient.

Klinger nodded. After exchanging a glance of confirmation with Goldman – the man on the other end of the stretcher – they lifted the wounded solider up off of the ground.

"Hey, the Doc and nurse barely looked at me. Am I gonna be okay?" The solider piped up as he was being taken to Pre-OP. His tone mirrored the terror in his voice.

If it was the beginning of his shift, Klinger would have been more than willing to offer a few genuine words of the comfort. But in his current state, Klinger just didn't have it in him. He glanced down at the young solider and gave recited his generic spiel, "you're going to be fine kid. The doctors and nurses here are some of the best south of the thirty-eighth parallel."

"Really?" The red haired, freckled face solider asked, with a cow-eyed expression plastered on his face.

"Betcha' bootstraps on it kid," Klinger replied as he and Goldman set the soldier's stretcher on top of a gurney.

Klinger suddenly noticed a small, worn looking, leather bound pocket book rustle out of the soldier's BDU jacket pocket. The faded, gold stamped lettering on the front of the book – _Heavenly Highway Hymns_ – sent an eerie chill throughout Klinger's otherwise, overheated body.

Acting on instinct, he quickly snatched up the book. He knew better than to take a patient's personal affects without consent, but Klinger could not help himself.

The eerie feeling only intensified when Klinger noticed that there were dried blood splatters on the edges of the pages. He assumed that the blood wasn't the soldier's; it was to brown in colour to belong to the freshly wounded, young man. Klinger's heart began to race when he noticed that top part of the pages were charred, and blackened by gun powered residue. With shaky hands, Klinger flipped open the cover of the book. His wildest fears were confirmed when he read the two inscriptions on the inside of the cover; each one direct underneath the next.

_ Dorthy A. Morango, 1928_

_Bobbi R. Morango, 1934_

_May the love we share bring you comfort, if ever you feel afraid. __Thinking about you always._

_Love Your Darling,_

_Maxwell Q. Klinger_

"Where the hell did you get this kid?!" Klinger demanded in a forceful tone.

The wounded solider looked at him bewildered. He had no idea as to why the hairy medic, whom was wearing a dress that resembled one his mother owned, was suddenly barking at him like his platoon Sergeant.

"I, I uh – found it."

"Where?" Klinger growled.

"At Battalion aid - it was just lying on the ground, so I picked it up. My Ma gave me one just like it when I was a kid," The solider explained his actions. His voice was shaky from nervousness.

"So what you're saying is that you stole it!" Klinger's voice boomed, which caused several heads in the chaotic room Pre-Op to snap in his direction.

"Hey calm down Klinger," Goldman suggested as he placed a hand on one of Klinger's shoulders. He wanted to be ready to intervene, just in case Klinger would suddenly snap and begin to beat on the solider.

Klinger thrashed his shoulder forward to free himself from Goldman's grip. He was still holding onto the hymn book; his knuckles white from gripping it so tightly.

"You name wouldn't happen Dorothy, Bobbi or Maxwell - would it," Klinger paused to read the name on the kid's dogtags, "Timothy?"

Petrified by the raging expression in Klinger's dark eyes, Timothy simply shook his head slowly.

"What's your outfit kid?" Klinger asked.

"7th Infantry Division, 2nd Battalion, 1st Infantry Regiment, Able Company, third platoon, second squad," Timothy automatically recited his chain command like his life depended upon it.

"Was there a woman up at your aid station?"

"What on Earth are you talking about Klinger?" Goldman blurted out, wondering if Klinger had actually gone crazy.

Timothy furrowed his brows together. After thinking for a moment he responded, "actually, yes there was. How did you know that?"

All of the emotion seemed to vanish from Klinger's face when he heard Timothy's reply.

"Your name ain't on this book, but mine is. Find yourself another hymn kid." Klinger said in a detached tone.

The war had just become a hell of a lot more stressful...


	2. Letters & Direct Shelling

"Do you need anything else before I sack out sir?" Captain Bobbi Morango asked the very tired surgeon standing across from her on the other side of the empty, makeshift O.R. table.

In the background, the usual rumbling of mortar's and artillery from the thirty-eight parallel bellowed out. Both Captain Morango and Major Fowler noticed the noise, but neither thought much of it. They had both been assigned to the Battalion aid station for so long, that silence was almost more frightening.

Major Fowler let out a large sigh, "no, I should be good Captain. You go get some rest honey. That was a fifteen hour stretch we just put in."

Bobbi's upper lip curled upward in disgust at the Major, referring to her as _honey. _She had asked him, along with some of the other guys at the post, to refrain from addressing her in misogynistic fashion. Bobbi was quite aware of the fact that she was probably the only female so close to the front, and did not need to be reminded of it through derogatory comments.

"Yes sir," Bobbi replied as she lazily pulled off her latex gloves.

She untied her blood stained, khaki coloured apron from around her waist, and tossed it into the mud caked laundry hamper.

It baffled her that the Army considered the bamboo walled hut they used for a makeshift O.R. as sanitary. Blood from countless mangled bodies was caked onto the wooden flooring. Also, there was a chunk about the size of a small car missing from in the roof, which exposed the patients and the staff to the wrath of the Korean climate.

Even more baffling, were the supplies the station received. H.Q. seemed to think that since Battalion aid stations scraped by on basically nothing, that it was all that they needed.

Medicine, bandages, gauze, water, food – you name it – the station was likely low on it.

The United States Army, claimed to be the strongest and well equipped fighting force in the world… what a load of crap!

When Bobbi had made her way over to where her sleeping area was, she was happily surprised to see that there were two letters on the laid on top of her pack. She looked up to the sky and smiled when she saw that the moon and stars shone bright enough, so that she didn't have to light up her small kerosene lamp to be able to read her letters. Being able to save on fuel was always a bonus!

H.Q. must have finally got there heads of the sand and gotten her unit's mail rerouted to them. The last time Major Fowler called H.Q. to inquire about it, the clerk had told him that all of the 2nd Battalion's mail somehow wound up in Puerto Rico...

Bobbi slept beneath the cover of a half blown away straw roof. Two crumbling clay walls also protected her somewhat. Overall though, Bobbi was very much exposed to the torments of Mother Nature while she slept.

Her living area was segregated from the rest of the unit, seeing as how she was literally the only female. In some ways she enjoyed the fact that it allowed her much needed privacy. However, her segregation made her feel vulnerable because sleeping alone in a war zone was never a good idea.

There probably wasn't a thing Bobbi wouldn't do to try and get herself transferred to an M*A*S*H unit. It would be like living at the Plaza Hotel, in New York City! She would be able to sleep beneath the cover of a canvas tent in a cot with sheets, blankets, and a pillow. Being able to eat hot chow that wasn't pork and beans, or horrific looking K-rations would also be luxurious.

Her predicament was rotten, but there wasn't a single thing she could do about it. Bobbi had put in several requests for transfers, but as per usual, every single one was turned down.

Bobbi let out dreary sigh as she unrolled her thin, army issue sleeping bag, which sadly happened to be surplus from 1945. After checking her sleeping bag for snakes and other various critters which roamed around the Korean landscape, Bobbi crawled inside it. She was sitting upright so that her back rested against one of the clay walls, but the lower half of her body was covered by the sleeping bag.

She reached over to the right, and picked up the two envelopes on top of her pack and placed them on her lap. She smiled when she opened up the first letter.

_My Dearest Niece, _

_I know that this is the sixth time I have written you this month. I understand being stationed so close to the front must keep you on your toes, but please find the time to write back so I know that you are hanging on._

_I cannot imagine how desperate, and full of anger you must feel – but __do not__ let it damper you beautiful soul._

_You, myself, and the good Lord above; all know that you do not deserve to be where you are today. It is unfortunate that have endured such hardships while on Earth. I know you have a good soul though Bobbi Rosalynn Morango. I also know that at the end of the road – all of the trials and tribulations you have been faced with and endured, will be worth it. One day you will walk through the Pearly Gates to see Jesus, smiling down upon you._

_Last Sunday at church, the service was closed with the singing of yours, and your Mother's favorite hymn, "If We Never Meet Again". I have to admit that I was in tears by the time it was over. I love our home, but since you and your Mother have left, it just doesn't feel the same._

_I pray that the Lord will continue to watch over you, and will return home safe to Tennessee. __I will close now, with the hopes that in a week's time I will find a letter addressed to me from Korea._

_Love always,_

_Uncle Everett_

As Bobbi refolded the letter and returned it to its envelope, she felt a pang of guilt travel though her flesh.

The last time she had written her Uncle was over three months ago. He was the only person stateside that cared about her wellbeing. It was bloody foolish keep ignoring him – but what would she write him about?

Bone chilling loneliness, and mangled bodies of young soldiers, were not suitable topic to write you elderly Uncle about…

With a shake of her head, Bobbi picked up the second letter on her lap. Her heart began to palpitate when as she read whom it was from. None the less, she tore it open and began to read it.

_Bobbi,_

_I am delighted that you have finally found the time to write! You have no idea how much I look forward to your letters, ever since I found out that you're posted close to the ole 4077th. _

_Sadly business at the 4077__th__ hasn't slowed down. My arms are so sore from hauling so many litters around. Hopefully a lull will come soon. These constant deluges are wearing everybody out; as I am sure you know._

_I really don't know how you have managed live in this God awful army for eight years – then again, that really wasn't your decision. I hope that your request to be transferred from your Battalion aid station, to an M*A*S*H unit goes through soon. _

_Sorry, but I have to go now – more casualties have just flooded in. _

_I hope we get to see each other soon. Please stay safe._

_Yours truly,_

_Maxwell Q. Klinger_

Bobbi groaned as she rested her head back against the wall. She had no idea why Klinger kept on replying to her.

About a month ago, she had randomly received a letter from him. It was quite short and to the point. It was simply a few lines stating that he found out through a patient where she was stationed and if she needed to bend somebodies ear; that his was available.

Bobbi pride and sense of logic screamed at her not to, but her lonely heart won the battle.

They had each written only three letters a piece. The topic of conversation was kept to a vague, general format – neither Bobbi nor Klinger, brought up their past relations.

Even though it was wrong on so many levels, Klinger's letters helped to numb the vast grief Bobbi felt in her heart.

Suddenly out of nowhere, the faint pop of shells exploding far away in the background erupted into eardrum shattering bangs.

Bobbi saw one of the medics standing outside the door of the O.R. hut. He screamed at her to run to him, and that they were under direct shelling.

She managed to get one leg out of her sleeping bag, before her sense of sound dissipated and she felt her body fly up into the air. The last thing she thought about before the world went black, was that she'd never see Maxwell Klinger again.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out! Christmas got in the way and so forth.**

**Thanks to SOLIDERSAngel87 for your review. It really made my day! I am glad you will continue on with me with this re-write. Now to answer your question: **

**I basically have an ADHD personality when it come to writing fanfiction. My goal is update this fic every week and a half; two weeks at the most. ****I am slower writer, and I also have school work which I need to do.**

**That being said I hope you, along with my other follower, and whomever else might be reading this enjoyed this chapter. I know it is pretty short, but the next one will be longer - I promise!**

**Thanks for reading and please review if you have any thoughts or concerns. **

**DISCLAIMER: I only own my plot and my OC's. I sadly do not own M*A*S*H. **


	3. An Omen Come True?

**Disclaimer: Don't own M*A*S*H – only my OC's and original plotline. Also I don't own the hymn, **_If We Never Meet Again_**. **

_**(Author's note at the end) **_

* * *

Just like everybody else at the 4077th; Klinger was beyond the point of exhaustion. The current deluge was one of the worst of the war, thus far. Wounded solider, after wounded solider, kept arriving at the hospital like they were the only medical unit north of Seoul.

The timing was particularly unfortunate because some dunderhead of General at H.Q, who decided that Hawkeye and Frank should be plucked from active duty and be forced to attend a series of mandatory medical seminars, in Tokyo. So, the 4077th,was running on half a tank with only Trapper and Henry for surgeons.

Ultimately, that meant that the nurses, as well as the corpsmen; really had to pick the slack. Needless to say, the extra task really began to wear them out after a few days.

After the latest whirlwind, O.R. session – Klinger was sitting at a table by himself in the Mess Tent, slowly sipping away at a cup of stale tasting lukewarm coffee. He was quite peckish, but once he saw that supper was three day old pork chops and half rotten broccoli; he wisely chose to just stick with coffee. Caffeine is an appetite depressant, after all.

"Mind if join you, Klinger?" Radar's dreary voice made Klinger look up from his cup.

"Yeah sure," Klinger replied half asleep. When Radar sat down across from him, he was stunned to see that the Corporal only had a slice of buttered bread and a cup of coffee on his metal tray. "That's all you're gonna eat, kid?"

"Did you smell those pork chops? I will eat pretty much anything, but I'm not suicidal!" Radar defended his choice.

Klinger chuckled to himself … the cook really outdone himself _if Radar O'Reilly_ wouldn't even partake in his food.

"Gee whiz what a rough few days, huh Klinger?" Radar commented as he took a bite of his bread.

"You said it, kid."

"Do you wanna know what happened," Radar paused briefly to swallow, "when I called H.Q. today, to ask them when the fighting is going to die down?"

"What?" Klinger asked, knowing that if Radar was complaining it had to be a good story.

"The Sergeant I spoke to told me that he didn't have time to answer stupid questions, from four-eyed, nobody Corporal! Can you believe that? I mean jeez – how did he know I wear glasses?"

Klinger couldn't help but to smirk as he egged on Radar, "he could probably tell from just hearing your voice. It's a proven medical fact that wearing glass can alter the tone of a person's voice so that they sound less intimidating."

"Now wait just a-"

Before Radar could protest Klinger's absurd statement – the P.A. suddenly crackled on,_"Sorry to damper your already dreary spirits folks, but we've got wounded arriving by jeep, bus, and chopper on both the upper and lower pads." _

"Holy cow," Radar exclaimed as he slapped a hand to his cheek in astonishment, "I must tired. I didn't even hear the choppers coming!"

Acting on instinct and a sudden surge of adrenaline; both men then abandoned their pathetic excuse for meals and charged out of the Mess Tent doors.

Radar made a beeline for his office, so he could grab his clipboard, pencil, and a pad of paper to write down any inevitable orders that Colonel Blake would want dictate.

Klinger, hopped onto the first litter jeep he spotted, along with a few other corpsmen, and rode up to the upper chopper pad. A split second after the jeep had parked and Klinger had climbed out of it – a helicopter landed on the pad. He then ran up to the patient closest to the jeep and worked to unstrap the restraint overtop of the patient's chest, while the other corpsman worked on the restraint by the patient's feet.

It wasn't until after Klinger had detached the protective plastic dome around the patient's head that he realized the wounded soldier, was in fact a woman.

He hoped that he was dreaming. In fact, Klinger prayed that he was – which _was not_ something he did too often.

There was no possible way that Bobbi Rosalynn Morango, was the person whom was laying on that blood and dirt incrusted stretcher.

Her body wasn't oozing out blood by the ounce. No – she was somewhere behind the front, miles away from the 4077th.

It was only when Bobbi's eyelids flung open and Klinger saw the sheer terror in her blue eyes; did he realize that it really was Bobbi lying on that stretcher.

A blood curdling scream escaped Bobbi's lips when her sensory systems, suddenly kicked in. There was an unbearable, stinging throb radiating from her right shoulder and her left leg. Her body hadn't felt so broken since the winter of 1942.

"Oh my god…" Klinger murmured in disbelief under his breath, as he took a step backward to let a nurse and Trapper attend to Bobbi.

Klinger wanted to scream, cry, and throw up all at once. All of the emotions he had been suppressing for so many years suddenly hit him like a freight train.

"Easy there soldier we've –" Trapper stopped mid-sentence, when he looked up from the Bobbi's leg to her face, and realized that she was a woman, "holy shit."

"It hurts much," Bobbi whined incoherently, only partially registering the strangers stand over her.

The morphine that she had received somewhere between the time of the shelling and when she was put on the chopper, had almost completely worn off. The pain, combined with the surge of endorphins her brain was sending out was making her mind spin and out of lucidity.

"I'm gonna get you something for that doll," Trapper replied in a soothing tone. He then turned his attention to the nurse, who was applying a fresh pressure bandage across Bobbi's leg, "get me a quarter grain of morphine stat. Then start her on a saline and penicillin drip. Cross match and type as fast as possible; then prep for surgery. I'm gonna take her first."

"Yes Doctor." The nurse replied, before hurrying over to a nearby ambulance to grab the morphine.

"My leg – how bad is it?" Bobbi asked with her eyes shut tight, in an attempt to block out the searing pain.

Trapper placed his hand top of Bobbi's, which made her open her eyes and look to him. For a brief moment, the expression of genuine concern in Trapper's eyes made her forget about her pain as he spoke to her, "I promise you, I am going to do everything I can as your surgeon to ensure that you will walk again."

Right then, the nurse came back with a morphine filled syringe and handed it to Trapper. Once he had found a suitable vein, he maintained his direct eye contact with Bobbi, and he slowly injected the medication into her right forearm.

There was a subtle softness in Trapper's brown eyes, which for some unbeknownst reason, made Bobbi believe that Trapper meant every word he had said. Within seconds, the morphine surging through her blood stream caused the crippling pain to vanish, and replaced it with a warm, dull, fuzzy, floating sensation. She opened her eyes and murmured as coherently as possible, "Thank you Doc."

Satisfied that Bobbi was as comfortable as one could be in her state – Trapper, signalled for Klinger and Goldman to come forward and pick up her stretcher.

Klinger's body was shaking so badly from the shock that he was surprised he was even able to lift up his end of the stretcher by Bobbi's head. During the short trek from the chopper to the awaiting ambulance, the memories of the first time he met her – to the last time he had seen her in 1949 – flooded his thoughts.

When he and the corpsman had safely placed her stretcher into the back of the ambulance, a woeful question daunted his thoughts… _Had the black demon of war, finally brought him and Bobbi full circle?_

* * *

"Boy oh boy, I am so going to chew out H.Q. once this session is over. They promised us that there shouldn't be any casualties while Hawkeye and Frank were stuck in Tokyo!" Colonel Blake griped as he scrubbed up alongside Trapper.

"And you actually believed what some desk jockey at H.Q. said?" Trapper asked dryly. "Henry, I think your dome has finally cracked in two."

Henry turned off the tap, grabbed a towel off of the tray and dried his hands. "Yeah, yeah, yeah – let's just get in there and get to work," he responded, slightly agitated by Trapper's wisecrack.

"Right behind you," Trapper sighed as finished scrubbing and dried his hands.

After a nurse had tied a surgical mask onto his face; Trapper barged into the O.R, anxious to get to work on Bobbi.

On the chopper pad, Trapper noticed that there was an abundance of foreign debris, in and around, the site of her leg wound. It meant that that onset of gangrene was a highly probable, post-operative complication.

Trapper had been preforming meatball surgery long enough to know what if he didn't work quickly – there was a high possibility that she could lose leg. The wound on her shoulder however, wasn't too serious. No internal organ or bones were damaged – just some slight muscle and tendon lacerations.

When Trapper walked into the O.R., he was relieved to see that Bobbi was laid out on the gurney, second closest to the scrub room doors, and was completely prepped. As he walked up to the table he shouted to no one in particular, in a hurried fashion. "Where are the x-rays on this patient?" He held out his arms so that a nurse could put a surgical gown on him. After about thirty second without any kind of response, he yelled once more, "God dammit, I need the x-ray's on this patient right now!"

Nurse Baker whom was walking about the O.R., distributing freshly sterilized surgical instruments to all the tables stopped, and told Trapper, "Klinger should be here any second with them."

Sure enough, moments later Klinger came barreling into the room through the doors that bridged that gap of the hallway, between O.R, and Pre- OP.

It was probably the fastest that he, or anybody else for that matter, had developed a set of x-rays. The other corpsmen and nurses in Pre-OP and x-ray thought that Klinger had gone rabid.

"Here are the x-rays, sir," Klinger addressed Trapper through heavy breaths, as he pinned the pictures up onto the illuminated board.

"About damn time, Klinger," Trapper snapped, totally disregarding the obvious effort Klinger had put in to rushing the x-rays for him.

Major Houlihan was assisting Colonel Blake a table away, looked over her shoulder and sternly warned, "Dr. McIntyre, watch your language. There are ladies present in case you haven't noticed!"

Trapper turned around from the x-ray board and replied in a highly ornery tone, "Keep your comments to yourself, _nurse_. If I'm going to save this woman's leg – then the last thing I need is for you to go on like a frigid, old bat!"

Colonel Blake and the rest of the nurses couldn't help but to chuckle at the comment, despite the serious intent of it.

Completely outraged by disrespectful language toward a superior officer, Margaret went on a rant, "Clam up nurses! Get back to work! How dare you speak to a superior officer in such a degrading, not to mention unprofessional, manner." She was going to continue to dig into Trapper, when her train of thought suddenly switched gears, "Wait a second. Did you say a woman? You have a female patient lying on that table – right now!"

"Alright put her under," Trapper ordered his anesthesiologist. He then turned his attention back toward Margaret, "No, I have goat lying on the table."

"There is no need for derision, Doctor!" Margaret huffed, completely appalled by the continuation of Trapper's blatant effrontery.

"Whatever Major," Trapper grumbled as he outstretched his right hand with his palm facing upward. He was finished arguing with Margaret; knowing that he needed to focus on Bobbi. "Scalpel," he addressed his scrub nurse.

Margaret knew that it was futile to continue on bickering with Trapper so, she told Nurse Kellye to position two screens on either side of Bobbi's table. Regulations dictate that female patients be segregated from the male patients at all time.

As Trapper began to go to work; he found himself feeling more anxious than he had in a while during an operation. If he screwed up with Bobbi, he was scared that he wouldn't be able to bounce back from ruining a young woman's life.

The war was particularly gruesome as of late, and it was really beginning to gnaw away at Trapper's spirit. He found himself turning towards the still, as well as blowing most of his pay at poker in order to deal with his depression. Despite how much he and Hawkeye joke about booze, and how much fun they have while they're tanked; his ever increasing dependence on alcohol was starting to scare him. Trapper really felt like his life was sliding downhill, and he was completely helpless to stop it. He was stuck in the middle of a warzone. Human suffering, whether it be physical or mental, was simply impossible to ignore – especially as a man of medicine.

* * *

It had been two hours since Trapper had started to operate on Bobbi. Although to Klinger, it felt like a lifetime. He tried to focus on his work, but every time walked into the O.R his focus shattered into a million pieces.

There were only three other casualties besides Bobbi – which were all mild cases – so, Henry took all of the other patients leaving Trapper free to focus on Bobbi.

After Klinger and another corpsman, had delivered the third and final patient to Colonel Blake's table; he went and sat down on the bench in the hallway between Pre-OP and O.R. He was hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, so that he could support his head in his hands. He closed his eyes took in long, deep breaths, in an attempt to calm his nerves.

Klinger had no idea how long he had been sitting there, when Father Mulcahy said to him, "My word Klinger, you don't look well at all."

Klinger's body jolted upward slightly in shock. He didn't even hear the priest approach him. His mind was off in a faraway time and place. Needless to say, it was in a place that did not involve the horrors of war.

"Hi Father," Klinger drawled as he opened his eyes, lifted his head, and sat up straight.

Mulcahy felt a pang of worry travel down his body, when he looked in the Lebanese's eyes. Usually they glimmered with a hint of mischief; on this day though, they were void of any type emotion. He thought that Klinger looked as if his entire soul had somehow detached itself, from its Earthly entrapment.

"Are you feeling okay? Do I need to grab a nurse to look at you?"

After a few moments of heavy silence from Klinger – Mulcahy decided that it would be best to take a seat beside him. "Max?" He asked, thinking that the personal touch of using his first name would snap Klinger out of whatever fog he was in.

Still, there was no response. Mulcahy was about to say his name again, but stopped when Klinger finally spoke up while looking straight ahead.

"I've screwed up so many things in my life, Father…"

The priest's body tilted backward in shock at Klinger's statement. There was a gravely somber tone to his voice, which quickly made Mulcahy realized that this just wasn't another one of Klinger's schemes to try to get out of the Army.

"Er, well –" Mulcahy was trying figure out how to ask Klinger what on Earth he was talking about, without sounding like a total cad; when Klinger suddenly interrupted him.

"The only woman I ever really loved hates my guts…" Klinger mumbled at a barely audible volume. He still did not make eye contact with Mulcahy. The image of last time he kissed Bobbi, outside of the bus station in Nashville, Tennessee; sprung into his mind.

He remembered how warm her body felt pressed against his. How soft her lips felt against his chapped ones. How she threaded her nimble fingers, through his thick locks of black hair. But most of all, he remembered the look of complete trust in her blue eyes. He could tell that Bobbi really thought that everything would be okay – come 1955, he'd still be waiting for and they'd finally get married. She did not have the slightest clue that he had already decided that it would be the last time they would ever meet.

A stinging pressure began to form in the corners of Klinger's eyes. He knew that he was on the verge of a complete and total breakdown so, quickly got up, and ran out to the doors which led out to the compound.

Father Mulcahy could only sit there, with his mouth agape. He hadn't the slightest clue about what caused Klinger's rare display of genuine emotion. As much as he wanted to chase after him and ask him a million questions; he refrained. Mulcahy was sure that in due course, all would be explained.

If there was one thing he had learned since becoming a priest – and especially since coming to Korea – was that there were certain times when people need to be left alone to simmer with their thoughts and feelings.

* * *

As Trapper placed the final piece of tape across the bandage on Bobbi's shoulder, his heartrate began slowly lower itself.

It had taken him three and a half hours to completely fix all of Bobbi's wounds. He worked as fast as his fingers would allow, yet, he made sure to pay meticulous attention to every little detail.

"Alright, get her Pre-OP right away," Trapper told his scrub nurse as he peeled off his gloves.

"Yes Doctor."

He stepped out of the way momentarily so that two corpsmen could haul Bobbi's stretcher away, however, he then resumed his previous stance in front of the operating table and stared downward at it.

He had restored circulation to Bobbi's limbs – but was it a good enough job?

"Doctor McIntyre, are you okay?" Radar's concerned voice, made Trapper look up from the table.

Trapper realized how odd he must look standing in front of an empty O.R. table, when he knew very well that there were no more casualties. He snapped out of it, undid the top string of his surgical mask and replied in his usual tone, "Yeah I'm fine."

Trapper then brushed past Radar, ignoring his confused gaze and walked into the scrub room. He wasn't surprised to see Major Houlihan ripping into Henry a new one.

"Sir, certain protocols need to be enforced when working on a female patient! I am the head nurse, which means that it your duty to inform me of such situations. You not telling me about this woman's presence during triage, is just another instance of how grossly inept you are to command this base!"

"Major, I didn't even know about the patient until you blew your cork in O.R. earlier! I really don't see that big deal." Henry grumbled.

"Hah," Margaret snorted, "if the sun was about to blow up; you wouldn't think it was a big deal either!"

"What does that have to do with anything? You know the way you can nag a man, I swear that you and my wife run on the frequency sometimes."

Margaret's jaw dropped open. She held a finger up at the Colonel and roared, "How dare you presume to talk to your head nurse – _let alone a U.S. Army, Major_ –in such a degrading fashion. You can be sure that this conversation will be enclosed in my next inefficiency report for General Clayton!"

Trapper was pretty sure that he could see the steam spouting out of Margaret's ears. He decided that it was the right time to join the conversation, "Cool your coals, Hot Lips. Nothing bad happened during the surgery. The nurses are probably setting her up in a corner of Post-OP right now, so that she will have complete privacy."

"Well just to make sure, I am going to go supervise so that it done to protocol," Margaret spat back before she stormed out of the room.

Henry and Trapper then began to stagger over to the curtain, which separated the general scrub area from the men's changing area.

"Man that Major sure is one hot tamale," Henry commented as he threw back the curtain.

Trapper waited until both he and Henry were seated on the bench below the shelf, where the doctor's hung up their uniforms, with their backs slouched against the wall, before he replied, "you can say that again."

"That was some good cutting you did in there, McIntyre," Henry said truthfully.

"Thanks Henry. I just hope that it was good enough." Trapper sighed.

Right then, the curtain from the scrub area was thrown back and Radar came scurrying toward the Colonel with a clipboard in hand.

"Sir, can I get you sign this requisition please?" Radar asked while shoving the clipboard in one hand, and a pen in another, at the Colonel.

"Oh Radar," Henry whined while sitting up straighter, "can't you see that McIntyre and I are busy."

Radar furrowed his brow in confusion and commented, "Uh, but Sirs – aren't you just sitting there?"

"We are busy suing our feet for divorce, Radar," Trapper added in dryly.

"Sir you need to sign this, so I can send of this requisition for that shipment of surgical gloves you requested," Radar prompted Henry once more.

"Alright Radar," Henry groaned as he accepted the pen and clipboard.

While Henry was signing, Trapper told Radar, "After you're done with that Radar, I want you to call around and get that female patient's 201 file from H.Q. I want to know why the hell she was so close to the front and what her unit is."

After he accepted his clipboard and pen back from Henry – Radar replied to Trapper with a nod, "Yes sir."

"I can't believe I'm saying this… but I'm envious of Frank. What I wouldn't give to just be in Tokyo right now," Henry said to Trapper, as sunk back into his previous sitting position,

"You said it, Henry…"

* * *

Klinger sat on the floor in a corner of the supply shed on a mattress, with only a small kerosene lamp for light, on a shelf above his head.

He wasn't too sure how long he had been in there, and quite frankly did not care. He didn't have duty until 06:00 the next day, so, he could do whatever he damn well pleased.

In his hands he held the copy of _Heavenly Highway Hymns, _he had taken from that Private one month ago.

After the events of the day, Klinger came to the conclusion that coming across Bobbi's hymn book was an sign from whatever God sits up in the high heavens, that his and Bobbi's worlds were about to collide once more. He had no idea how he could have been so blind to such an obvious sign.

His only way of coping with such a realization, was to cry until his body couldn't produce any more tears.

Several worries plagued his mind about how Bobbi would react to seeing him again. Also, he worried about how the officer's at the 4077th would react, once they found out about the Bobbi's unique position in the military… that is, if they found out at all.

After his sobbing had ceased; he pulled out the hymn book and began to slowly read the lyrics of the songs he had loved to hear Bobbi sing, so much.

When Klinger read the words to the hymn, "If We Never Meet Again" – his memory took him back in time when nothing stood in between the that love he and Bobbi had once shared.

* * *

_Maxwell Q. Klinger thought that he was the luckiest man on the planet. Sure, he knew how cliché it sounded; but he really didn't care. _

_After two years of playing cat and mouse, he had finally taken the plunge and just told her that he actually like her more than just a friend. He really didn't have any clue that Bobbi also felt the same way about him. So, when she told him that she had a big crush on him as well – he felt like he was walking up in the clouds._

_Even though she was only fifteen, and he was sixteen years old – he had this solid, definitive feeling in his gut that they were going to grow old together. _

"_Maxwell Klinger – what in tarnation are you thinking about?" _

_Bobbi's sultry, southern voice brought Klinger back from the idyllic future he was picturing in his mind; to the present day, April 2__nd, __1938\. _

"_Oh, just how beautiful you look while playing that piano," Klinger told her a partial white lie. _

_Bobbi rolled her eyes and chuckled at him, "Y'all didn't even know what I was playing – did you?" _

_Klinger cracked a grin that extended from ear to ear. He love that every once and a while, her Southern vocabulary popped up. _

_When she had moved from Tennessee to Toledo, two years prior, Klinger hated how much the other kids in their grade had teased her about her accent. For the first few weeks, everything she walked down the hallway or was sitting in her desk before class started; she was called anything from a backward hick, to a Dixie dummy. Over the years her accent faded, but it never fully went away – much to Klinger's delight. He loved the way Bobbi talked and thought that it was the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. _

"_Yes I do! That was – Fare Thee Honey Blues, by Perry Bradford." Klinger proudly defended himself._

_Before he had met Bobbi; Klinger couldn't tell the difference between a ragtime song and a country song, if his life depended upon it. Once he had begun to spend time with her however, he quickly caught on that if he wanted to impress Bobbi; he'd have to learn a hell of a lot more about music._

"_I'm impressed," Bobbi said playfully, with an arched eyebrow._

_Klinger got up from the armchair he was sitting in, and joined Bobbi on the wooden piano bench. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and in turn; she loosely wrapper her arms around his neck. While staring into her clear blue eyes, Klinger spoke from his heart, "You know what Bobbi, not in a million years would I have thought that me, a poor Lebanese kid from Toledo; would ever end up with a gal like you… I love you to bits, Bobbi." _

_Bobbi's blood pressure skyrocketed, as her cheeks changed to a shade of dark red. It was only the second time that Klinger had told her he loved her. _

"_I love you too, Max," Bobbi happily replied in a sheepish voice._

_Upon hearing her reply, Klinger then tightened the grip around her waist, so that the small gap between their bodies was eliminated. He put his hands on either side of her face and softly pressed his lips to hers. He knew that Bobbi was blushing, because he could feel the intense heat radiating from her skin onto his hands. After a few moments, Klinger reluctantly broke the embrace. _

_He didn't want to screw things up by letting his teenage hormones get in the way and move too fast with Bobbi, because he knew that he was her first boyfriend._

_He had dated Laverne Esposito for a few months before, so he was a bit more experienced with intimacy than Bobbi. That being said, Klinger never went past first base with Laverne. It just did not seem right._

_Bobbi looked down at her lap, as she tucked her bright red hair behind her ears before asking, "So… is there anything song you want me to play?" _

"_It would really be swell if you'd play and sing – If We Never Meet Again." _

_The request was a no brainer for him. In his mind, when she sang the hymn he could hear an unusual, mature sounding wisdom in her voice. It gave him a sense of comfort, but for some reason, sent an eerie chill throughout his body. At times he wondered if it was his subconscious was sending him some sort grim, omen._

_Bobbi flashed him a sincere grin before she began to play the hymn: _

"_Soon we'll come to the end of life's journey  
And perhaps we'll never meet anymore  
'Til we gather in Heaven's bright city  
Far away on that beautiful shore_

_If we never meet again this side of Heaven  
As we struggle through this world and its strife  
There's another meeting place somewhere in Heaven  
By the side of the river of life_

_Where the roses bloom forever  
And where separation comes no more  
If we never meet again this side of Heaven  
I will meet you on that beautiful shore_

_All they say we shall by the river  
Where no spurn clouds ever darken the sky  
And they say we'll be happy in Heaven  
In that wonderful sweet by and by_

_If we never meet again this side of Heaven  
As we struggle through this world and its strife  
There's another meeting place somewhere in Heaven  
By the side of the river of life_

_Where the roses bloom forever  
And where separation comes no more  
If we never meet again this side of Heaven  
I will meet you on that beautiful shore"_

* * *

**A/N: I am so sorry this took forever to get out! I got sidetracked by my Band of Brothers fic, and of course my school work got in the way o_O **

**Thanks to the people who have followed/favorite this story since the last time I've updated! Glad to see more support for this story! **

**Anyways, I'd like to thank you for reading, and ask you to please take the time to write a review. A lot of the story thus far is new material as compared to my old version of this story.**

**Hope to give you readers and update soon!**


	4. You're Still My Darling

**Disclaimer: I do no own M*A*S*H. Only my OC's and my plotline.**

* * *

It was 03:30 when Klinger had worked up enough courage to leave the seclusion of the supply shed, and head over to the Post-Op ward. He needed to see if Bobbi was awake.

Klinger hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep the entire night but was wide awake – and he didn't even have one drop of coffee all night. Klinger was too flustered about how and what, he was even going to say to her. Moreover, he was terrified if Bobbi would even want to talk to him?

As painful and humiliating as it would to hear Bobbi reject him; it was something that he knew needed to get over with. Otherwise, it would gnaw away at him until he found out.

When he entered into the ward, he was happy to see that Major Houlihan wasn't on duty. The last thing he needed was for her to start barking at him about how he can't see Bobbi, because he was some cross-dressing pervert, or something along those lines.

He immediately picked out which bed Bobbi was in, because it was the only one walled off by screens. The first was on the right side of the bed, and the second was positioned at the foot of the bed. She was in the last bed on the left hand side of the aisle, so the curtain that separated the ward from the doors to Radar's office acted as a third barrier. There was just a big enough space between the two screens, so that the nurses and doctors could still keep an eye on Bobbi.

Klinger lingered in the door way for a moment, and took in a few deep breaths to try and steady his nerves. He had no idea what to expect. All he really hoped was that he wouldn't break down at the sight of Bobbi in a hospital bed.

It wouldn't be the first time he would be seeing her in such a condition, but that doesn't make it any easier.

Suddenly the door behind him swung open, scaring the living daylights out of Klinger. He quickly spun around and saw that the newcomer was Trapper.

"Yeesh don't wet your bloomers there, Klinger," Trapper remarked, acknowledging how much he had scared the man.

Usually Klinger would have responded some snappy comeback, but at the moment, finding out how Bobbi was doing was far more important than engaging in some mindless banter.

"Hey Doc, how is Bobbi doing? Are her wounds infected or anything like that? Do you think that she will be her for long?"

Trapper's expression went stern. He wondered why the hell Klinger was inquiring about his female patient. He had never really cared about the specifics of one of his cases before. His first instinct was to lash out a Klinger with some sort of derogatory statement.

However, the genuine expression of concern on Klinger's face told Trapper that he was actually being serious for once. He let out of sigh, because he knew that there was no point in acting hostile – despite how tempting it would be at the moment.

"I was just about to go check on her actually," Trapper admitted.

Klinger corrected his posture so that he stood up a bit taller. "Great I'll follow you then," he replied.

Trapper nodded his head in agreement. As he walked down the aisle to Bobbi's bed, he felt a bit like a mother duck with Klinger was trailing directly behind him.

When the pair reached the other end of the ward, Klinger went ahead a rolled back the screen by the foot of her bed just enough so that he and Trapper could slip inside. Klinger then proceeded to sit down on the stool beside her head, on the left side of the bed. There was only one stool, so Trapper went ahead and sat down on the edge of the right side of her bed.

Trapper's weight caused the mattress to shift towards where he was sitting, which subsequently, caused Bobbi to awaken from her slumber. She could tell that somebody was there, but found it near impossible to find the strength to open her eyelids to see who it was – thanks to all of medications which were coursing through her veins.

She tried to ask who was there, but instead her words came out as a mess of slurred syllables. She realized her error and tried to address the mystery person again – but the same thing happened once more.

"Hey Doc, what's wrong with her? Is she in pain or something? Is this normal?" Klinger fired out his questions at Trapper like machine gun fire.

The sound of Klinger's worrisome voice sent a huge surge of adrenaline coursing throughout Bobbi's body, which in turn, lessened the effects of the morphine in her system. She immediately opened her eyes and snapped her head to the left, to see if the voice belonged to who she thought it was.

Her jaw dropped in astonishment when her eyes fell upon none other than, Maxwell Q. Klinger.

There were several gaps in Bobbi's memory after she had gotten wounded. That being said, she did have a faint recollection of seeing his face after the chopper had landed.

"M,m,m – Max?" Bobbi stuttered, still unable to fully grasp the sight in front of her.

A warm smile spread across the Corporal's face, "Hiya, Darling."

Klinger's voice was so filled with unadulterated affection; it took Bobbi aback. Never in a million years would she have ever thought she'd see Maxwell Q. Klinger again. Moreover, she would have never of thought that he would still even have a fragment of positive sentiment left for her.

She stared directly into Klinger's large brown eyes. What she saw the same tenderness and gentle nature that had made her fall for him all those years ago, when she was just naïve thirteen year old girl country girl who had just moved to the city.

But there was also another, surprising emotion that Bobbi in Klinger's eyes – _regret_. This emotion was more shocking than the first. By the way Klinger had treated her when she had shipped out to Korea; she never would have guessed that he had felt any ounce of regret about his actions.

The mixture of the two dichotomous emotions made Bobbi feel very uneasy.

Of all of the M*A*S*H units to end up in – it had to be Klinger's…

"How are you feeling, Captain Morango?" The sound of Trapper's unfamiliar voice made Bobbi remember that there was another person on the other side of her.

She turned her head to the opposite side of the bed, and took in the sight of the strange man sitting on her bed. Because of the white lab coat that the man was wearing, Bobbi assumed that he was a doctor. For a brief moment, she couldn't help but to admire the glimmering sparkle in Trapper's brown eyes.

"I'm guessing that you're the one who stitched me up?" Bobbi addressed Trapper.

One of Trapper's infamous sideways grins spread across his lips, before he replied, "You guessed right. I'm Dr. McIntyre, but since you are cuter than most of my patients generally are around here – you can call me Trapper."

"Alright," Bobbi agreed to his terms with a meek smile.

"Now then, what is a pretty gal like you doing in a war like this?" Trapper asked in a calm fashion; even though the question had been driving him crazy since Bobbi had arrived in camp.

"Same reason that you're here, Trapper. I was awarded time here in this lovely vacation spot thanks to good ole' Uncle Sam's travel agency."

Trapper nodded feeling disappointed with her ambiguous answer. He was hoping for an answer as to why she up at the front lines. He knew that Bobbi state was still quite fragile after experiencing such trauma, so he opted to pry for that answer at a later time.

"How are feeling, Bobbi?" Klinger interjected.

"Ugh, I've got a dull throbbing in my shoulder and leg. I'd wager that without whatever medicine is dripping out of the IV tubing into my arm, that I'd be feeling a lot worse right now," Bobbi answered as she turned her head, so that she was looking straight up at the ceiling.

Her sudden burst of energy was beginning to dissipate, which made her eyelids feel heavier than lead once more.

"Now I am just going to have a peek underneath those bandages of yours, Captain," Trapper informed Bobbi of his actions in a soothing tone, before beginning his examination.

Bobbi nodded her up and down lazily. She then turned her head back towards Trapper, "If I'm going to call you Trapper – then I think it's only fair that you cut out all of the Captain crap, and call me Bobbi."

"Well I wouldn't object to that," Trapper chuckled lightly as he reapplied the dressing on her leg. He then went on to examine her shoulder wound. After a few moments when he was satisfied that there was no sign of infection, he reapplied the dressing. "Everything looks A-Okay to me."

Before Bobbi could have a chance to reply, the P.A. speaker crackled on, "_Guess what folks… That's right! It's time for all of you marvelous medico's to step into the circus ring once more – incoming wounded in the compound!" _

Trapper hung his head at the sound of the announcement. News of more wounded was the last thing that he wanted to hear at the moment. He placed a hand on top of Bobbi's, and reluctantly excused himself, "Sorry doll, but duty calls. I'll be back right after O.R. to come and see you again."

"That's okay," Bobbi mumbled at Trapper, through a half-lidded gaze. The urge to fall back to sleep was quickly becoming unbearable.

Trapper smiled and nodded as he removed his hand from hers. He lingered for a brief moment though; unable to stop himself from admiring how adorable the look of determination she had on her face was as she fought like hell to stay awake.

After feeling Klinger's icy glare penetrate his chest him from the bed – Trapper realized that he must have stayed for more than just a moment. He then proceeded to clear his throat awkwardly, and quick got up to leave the ward.

Klinger remained by Bobbi's side, despite the chaos that was beginning to erupt within in the ward with the nurses and corpsmen preparing for incoming wounded. He slipped his right hand underneath Bobbi's left hand carefully; keeping in mind that it was probably a bit tender due to the fact that it was the hand where the needles to her IV's were inserted.

The light touch and the warmth of Klinger's calloused skin only intensified the urge to regress back into slumber.

"Max, I…" Bobbi tried to tell him that it was a comfort to know that he was in camp, but nodded off before she could finish her thought.

The pleasant smile on Klinger's face quickly faded, when the familiar feeling of crippling remorse returned to the pit of his stomach.

If he wouldn't have been such a stupid, selfish jackass – he could be curled up in bed beside her, with her head resting on his chest like he wanted to be. He could have one hand entwined with hers, while he gently stroked her red locks behind her ears with his free one. While he held her; he'd whisper to her about how his heart has yearned for her and how empty he has felt without her.

He missed so many things about not having her by his side. He missed hearing her laugh at his jokes, and the way the way that she'd roll her eyes at him if the joke was too corny.

His world sounded so silent, without hearing her unconsciously sing hymns while she was going about her day.

Pulling off a prank or getting away the some sort of sneaky deed, didn't feel nearly as gratifying without Bobbi by his side.

What Klinger would tell her most of all – was that even though he was married to Laverne – the amount of love he had for her hadn't shrunk in the slightest.

Bobbi was his Tennessee mountain sweetheart. She was the mesmeric woman sung about in so many the old time Appalachian songs.

Whenever he heard on of those old time songs on some obscure radio station, he immediately thought of her. Sometimes while listening, he smiled as big as a Cheshire cat. Other times, he fought the urge to weep.

Almost every night when Klinger laid his head down on his pillow and closed his eyes; Bobbi's image crept into his mind.

He saw her soft, red hair, which at one time flowed halfway down her back. Unlike most other people who shared her colour of hair, Bobbi wasn't covered in freckles. The few that did dot her nose and rosy cheeks – Klinger adored to bits.

Her wide smile and the dimples on her cheeks always melted his heart, and made him feel weak at the knees.

There is a saying that the eyes are a window into a person's soul. Klinger found it to be true when he looked into Bobbi's eyes. He saw the twinkle of kindness in her hazel eyes, as well as a hint of mischief and her wonderment about life.

In this image, she would always be wearing his favorite dress of hers. It was a white cotton, summer dress, adorned with a blue floral pattern and lace at its hem.

"Hey Klinger, come on already! Gee whiz, there's wounded you know!" The sound of Radar's urgent voice from the opening of the screens brought Klinger back to reality.

"Alright already – don't get your glasses all steamed up!" Klinger called back in a highly indignant fashion.

Radar snorted in offense and walked away, wondering why Klinger was so irritable. Yes, it was the dead of night – but that was no reason to bit his head off. He also found it strange as to why he would be visiting patients at such an off hour…

After Radar had scurried away, Klinger knew that he had to get up. Otherwise, the next person to tell him to get up off of his rump would probably be Major Houlihan. The double duty she would give for the next two weeks for goldbricking wasn't exactly high on the list of things he wanted to do.

He reluctant slipped his hand away out from under hers and stood up. Before he left though, he bent over placed a soft kiss upon her forehead.

He then pulled his lips away just enough, so that they were not touching her skin. With tears in his eyes, he whispered the truth in his heart that he had been denying to himself and others for over a year.

"I love you, Bobbi...I'm so, so sorry. If I could take back this last year, believe me I would. You're still my Darling – and always will be. I'll always be yours, too…"

* * *

**A/N: Hello there.**

**Sorry this took forever to get out. I have been struggling with depression lately, and even though I really want to write and think about this story basically all day – it's been very hard to find the motivation to do it. :/**

**This is quite a short chapter for me, but I felt that I needed to stop here. ****One of the things I wanted to improve with this re-write is to get into Klinger's mind more. Hopefully this chapter will help with that aspect!**

**Next chapter the ball will begin to get rolling, because Hawkeye and Frank return from Tokyo. For any of my older readers; yal might remember what happens then! ;)**

**Anyways, thank you for all of the reviews – I really appreciate all of them.**

**As always, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my story and please leave a review. **


	5. The Return of Frank & Hawkeye

"Alright this guy's done. He has enough knitting in his belly that somebody could mistake him for Frankenstein," Henry commented to nobody in particular, as he took a step backward so that the awaiting orderlies could step in and cart the patient away.

"Yeah well, my guy's sigmoid colon looks like he had a bad encounter with a lawn aerator," Trapper retorted from the operating table directly behind Henry's.

"Okay, next patient please! Let's keep it moving folks," Henry hollered out as he shed his dirty set of gloves and surgical gown for new ones.

"Yes sir," Major Houlihan replied in an obedient fashion. She then hollered out, "Klinger – you and Swartz bring in the next patient for the Colonel!"

As prompt as a Swiss time piece, Klinger and the other orderly burst through the O.R doors hauling a freshly wounded solider. After they had placed the patient down onto the table, Klinger asked Henry, "Sir this is the last one – can I be relieved of my duty now?"

Before Henry could reply one way or another; Margaret cut in, "no you may not Corporal! You were almost twenty minutes late getting to your duties when wounded arrived. Do you not recall me telling you that you have to stick around to help with cleaning up the O.R. after the session?"

Klinger shot the Major an execrable glare before he pleaded to Henry, "Sir, can you please let me go? The heels that I am wearing are killing my arches."

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but once again, got interrupted by a fuming Margaret.

"You've worked plenty a time in those heels before – why the sudden change?"

"I know why," Trapper decided to put in his two cents, "I think that Klinger is just anxious to go back and visit with the female patient in Post OP."

Henry glanced up from his patient, of whom he had just craved a fresh incision into his thigh. He sighed internally knowing that this conversation was only going to escalate into madness.

"Why would you say that, McIntyre?" Henry remarked sounding slightly peeved.

"Just an assumption, Henry," Trapper shrugged in an inhospitable way.

In reality, Trapper was itching himself to leave the O.R. to make sure that Bobbi's wounds hadn't festered in the interval of his absence.

"He better not be!" Margaret barked, intentionally referring to Klinger in third person to add insult.

"What is that to you, Major?" Klinger bellowed out, not bothering to withhold the personal offense present in his tone.

"Excuse me, Corporal?" Margaret raged.

Klinger was well aware of the fact that nobody at the 4077th, knew about his and Bobbi's past relations - and he really wanted to keep it that way. However, he knew how emotional he could get at times so that might prove difficult. Ultimately the glass shattering shrill in the head nurse's voice, reminded Klinger that it would be a bad idea to butt heads with her – as satisfying as it would be.

"Nothing, Major," Klinger quickly reversed his slip of tongue.

"I better not see you pestering that patient, Klinger. If I do, you can bet that I'll put your head on a spike. Trust me on that Corporal!" Margaret wasn't about to let him have the last word. She then felt the need to add, "I am sure that that woman has been thoroughly traumatized from her experience up at the aid station. Waking up in a hospital bed with several tubes sticking out of her body, as well as being in a substantial pain once her sedation starts to wear will be enough to handle. That woman does not need to deal with being bothered by some Lebanese, crossdressing lunatic!"

That crossed the line for Klinger. Just because Margaret was a U.S. Army Major and the head nurse; didn't give her the right to dictate who he can and cannot talk to off duty.

With the switch to his temper turned on he asked, "What's the patient's name, Major?"

"What?" Margaret asked, with her ireful nature becoming blatant.

While maintaining a cool tone of voice, Klinger repeated his question, "What is the name of the female patient in Post OP?"

"Corporal Klinger – you are only a hair away from being written up for gross insubordination! Now get back to work this instant," Margaret boomed. She became so enraged because there was no need for Klinger to pull any of his stunts during O.R. It was also to cover up that fact that she didn't have a clue what the patient's name was.

"See," Klinger growled through gritted teeth, "you don't even know what Bobbi's name is. Just because you were given some costume jewelry by the government which makes you more powerful than me while on duty, doesn't give you the right to say who I spend time with. If I want to go see if a wounded patient in Post OP – whom I happen to have known since 1936 – I am _damn well _going to do it!"

"Why you impudent, vile, perverse –"

Henry decided to step in before Margaret tore the Lebanese in half, "Major, instead of verbally assaulting Klinger like a rabid dog – how about handing me a number ten blade?"

"Number ten blade," Margaret echoed in a curt manner as she slapped the instrument down onto his outstretched palm.

She also shot a death glare to the few giggling nurses that were congregated by the blood fridge, which signalled to them to get to work.

There was a brief pause while the Colonel made an incision. After he was satisfied with the cut, he told Klinger, "Yes you can go, Klinger. I'm starting to get a headache from listening to the Major's caterwauling."

Margaret's jaw dropped open underneath her surgical mask. Her eyes became dark with fury as she defended herself. "How dare talk to your head nurse this way! This is exactly why this unit is one big military joke – it's led by a middle aged, jelly backed, brash, fool!"

Trapper couldn't help but to roll his eyes at Margaret's rant. He swore that she had a daily quota of the number of times she needed to complain that the 4077th, wasn't, Walter Reed Hospital. He took a second to carefully extract the last small piece of shrapnel from his patient's large intestine, before telling Klinger, "Leave already Klinger. And ask whatever nurse is on duty if there has been any change in her condition. If there has been change – tell her to get her hinny in here to give me an update."

"Yes sir!" Klinger proclaimed, happy to hear that he wasn't the only person in the entire camp who didn't treat Bobbi like every other wounded G.I.

"Major Burns will be back in two days and you can bet that he'll hear about this!" Margaret shouted, knowing that mention Frank's name was the only card she had left to play.

"Oh I'm sure he will, Hot Lips," Trapper commented wryly.

* * *

Klinger felt a storm of butterflies overtake his stomach as he slipped into Bobbi's screen protected domain.

When he asked the ward nurse about Bobbi; she just waved him away and told him that she was far too busy to deal with his lunatic antics right then. Klinger wanted to tell the nurse off, but he figured that he had already done enough back talking in the O.R. for one day. He wouldn't be on bit surprised if Major Houlihan, was going to push for him to be put on double duty for a few weeks as punishment.

On one hand, Klinger was upset with himself for flipping his lid the way he did. He promised himself not thirty seconds prior that he would try to keep his affectionate feelings for Bobbi under wraps, because he knew that if even one person in camp would catch on; it would only be a matter of hours before the entire unit would know. So, it was safe to say that his slip up with Major Houlihan was a bad mistake.

On the other hand – Klinger wasn't about to let Major Houlihan get away with pretending to care about Bobbi's welfare. He knew very well that her big spiel was simply posturing.

Even though he and Bobbi weren't together anymore; Klinger still felt like it was his job to protect her while she was at the 4077th. Whether it her honour, privacy, or physical form – he was going to make sure that his Darling was going to be happy and comfortable.

Just like five hours prior, Klinger sat down on the stool beside Bobbi's head on the left side of her bed. Except this time he dragged it down towards the foot of the bed a few inches, so that Bobbi wouldn't have to strain her neck to look at him.

He joined on of his hands with hers, and gently stroked the backside of it with his thumb. He wasn't sure if she would wake up, but at that moment it didn't really matter. The simple act of holding her hand was more than enough after all of the years they had spent apart.

Klinger jumped slightly in his chair when Bobbi's suddenly spoke up, with her eyes still closed, "Hi again, Max."

It gave him an indescribable feeling of joy, when he heard his name escape her lips. After all of this time, she still knew that it was him simply by his touch. In fact, it impacted him so much that he found himself holding back stinging tears.

"Hi Darling," Klinger struggled to keep the tone of his voice steady.

A soft smile formed across Bobbi's chapped lips. With her eyes still closed; she told him in a weak, yet comforting tone of voice, "I'm going to be okay, Max. Just sit here with me please… I'm so tired…"

"Alright Darling, I'm not going anywhere," Klinger whispered as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

There was about a solid minute of silence after that, so Klinger had just assumed that she had fallen back into slumber. Needless to say that he was rather surprised when Bobbi spoke his name again.

"Max?"

"I'm still here, Darling."

"I'm glad that you're here with me."

That broke the straw for Klinger, and he was no longer able to hold back the tears welled at the corners of his eyes.

"Me too Bobbi… me too…"

* * *

Almost simultaneously, Henry and Trapper took a step back from their operating tables and snapped off their bloodied latex gloves.

"This guy's done!" Trapper hollered out to nobody in particular.

"My kid is too!" Henry echoed.

Father Mulcahy gingerly stepped out of his waiting spot by the blood refrigerator and announced, "Good news doctors – I was informed just a minute ago that there are no more wounded."

Trapper hung his head in relief. He didn't know if his sore arches could handle standing in front of an operating table for any longer. The tendons and muscles in his hands were knotted up, that if a nurse were to slap a pair of forceps into his palm that it would fall right off.

"Thanks God for that," Henry remarked as he slowly staggered away from his table, towards the doors to the scrub room on the far wall.

"I already did," the Father happily replied before leaving the room through the opposite set of doors that Henry was heading toward.

As he walked along at his sluggish pace past Trapper's table; Henry sarcastically informed the other doctor, "You know that in order to walk McIntyre, you need to place one foot in front of the other. It'd also help to lift your head up, so that you can see which direction you are heading in."

Trapper lifted his head up, and let out a sigh before retorting, "Gee thanks, Henry. I don't think I've gotten to that chapter in my kinesiology textbook, yet."

He then followed Henry out to the scrub room. When the pair got there – they were more than surprised to walk in on Frank Burns and Hawkeye engaged in a monstrous argument by the scrub sink.

"I am telling you Frank – this time you crossed the line!" Hawkeye raged as he slapped his fist down on the edge of the metal sink.

Frank let out a sardonic snort, "_I crossed the line!_ Where is your sense of duty, Pierce? There is a massive deluge going on in this sector right now. As United States Army soldiers, it is our duty – not to mention a God given privilege – to help out our brothers in arms. By helping to patch up those wounded freckle faced youngster's, who risk their lives up at the frontline every day to repel the endless stream of heathen Red hordes; is a privilege and honour!"

Hawkeye's jaw dropped in astonishment. Sometimes he truly wondered if Frank really an enlistment officer that was plucked into the wrong branch of the service by accident.

"We still had one more day in Tokyo you brainless, nitwit!" Hawkeye's voice boomed like a cannon.

Henry took the chance to make his and Trapper's presence known, "For Pete's sake, what in the name of Mary and Joseph are you two doing back here?"

"Why don't we let Major Ferret Face here explain, Colonel," Hawkeye spewed as he gestured to Frank with an outstretched hand.

Frank sneered at Hawkeye before explaining in a formal fashion, "You see Colonel, whilst attending one of the medical seminars at Tokyo General Hospital – _by_ _myself_ _I might add _– I heard that there was heavy action in our sector. After making a few inquiries, I found out that 4077th were being flooded with casualties. Seeing as that I am second in command of this base; I felt that it was my duty to collect Pierce and head back to the ole' 4077th so that we could do our part."

Henry stared at Frank for a moment, with his lip curled upward in stupefaction. He then explained, "What? We didn't need you guys to come back, and even if we did; I would have had Radar call your guy's hotel."

"HAH! I told you so, you delusional MacArthur wannabe!" Hawkeye jeered at Frank.

"Colonel Blake – Pierce is calling me names again!" Frank trumpeted like a child having a tantrum.

"No he's not Frank – he's just using pronouns that define your personality," Trapper couldn't resist contributing his thoughts.

Frank dropped his jaw and sneered, "You stay out this McIntyre, you ignoramus!"

"Oh very good Frank, I'm glad to hear that you have learned some new insults while in Tokyo," Trapper patronized Frank.

"I don't need to stand here listening this abuse! I am going to Post OP where people won't talk to me like I'm some sort of mental case!" Frank shouted before storming out of the set of the doors to the compound.

The livid look on Hawkeye's face perfectly complemented his mood. After running a hand through his black hair, he exclaimed, "You know, he's lucky that I was so hungover from the night before when he found me walking down the Ginza. Otherwise, I would have broken every bone is his ferret face with my fists."

"Oh well, you're here now Pierce," Henry paused for a moment to yawn. "Now if you excuse me boys, I better get to the latrine before my bladder before it blows cork."

"Too much info Henry," Hawkeye remarked.

With that Henry took his leave, without even bothering to change out of his scrubs.

Trapper just waved off Henry and headed toward the curtain that separated the scrub room from the men's changing area. Hawkeye followed him; having changed into scrubs when he arrived in camp with Frank and was told that there was wounded.

"Boy you and Henry look worse than I did after waking up after my first night in Tokyo, in an all-night Geisha house. I think I drank enough sake to knock out even the biggest of Marine goons," Hawkeye commented, after noticing the dark puffy bags beneath Trapper's eyes.

"Meh," Trapper remarked indifferently before explaining, "it's this one case I have that has me looking like this."

"Oh – a tough one I gather?" Hawkeye's tone became more serious as he threw back the white separation curtain.

"Let's just change first, and then I'll explain on the way over to Post OP."

* * *

"Huh, so do you know why your patient doing so close to the line?" Hawkeye asked Trapper after he had finished explaining Bobbi's case.

"No idea, Hawk – she's still too out of it to ask." Trapper replied as he raised a hand to his forehead to shield his weary eyes from the relentless Korean sun.

"Have you asked, Radar to get her 201 file sent up here? That'd be a good place to start."

"Yeah I have," Trapper paused when he saw none other than Radar scurrying toward them from the direction of his office. He looked at Hawkeye and said, "Let's go ask him."

After walking a few feet, the three men met up.

"Geez Hawkeye, I thought you weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow," Radar greeted the surgeon.

The same sour disposition that Hawkeye had on his face from before in the scrub room, suddenly returned. "Yeah well thanks to Frank's unnatural sense of attraction to Uncle Sam – I'm back early."

"Huh?" Radar remarked feeling really confused.

"Never mind Radar," Trapper cut in, "did you get through to H.Q yet, about my patient's 201 file that I requested?"

"No not yet. Making phone calls to H.Q is pretty difficult at the moment." Radar replied.

"Why, are the phone lines down again or something?" Hawkeye prodded.

"Well not exactly…" Radar said as he scratched at his sweaty scalp through his wool cap.

Running out of patience, Trapper asked in a rather irritated fashion, "What do you mean than, Radar?"

"Well Sparky – that's the switch board operator down there – has had to frequently leave his desk to run to the uh, er, latrine."

"Ah yes, springtime in Korea. The wildflowers are beginning to bloom; cats are having kittens; and a young G.I. survival instinct switch from trying not to freeze to death, to making sure that he times his day just so that the lovely gift of dysentery doesn't bite."

Out of the blue, a blood curdling, distinctively female shriek rang out from the direction of Post OP.

The blood in Trapper's veins turned to ice water, as his adrenal glands overloaded his body with adrenaline. Then without given it a second thought, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him across the compound to Post OP. When he flung open the doors to the ward and rushed inside, the colour left his face at the sight gruesome sight before him.

* * *

**A/N: Hi there. So this is such a quick update – I am really proud of myself! **

**This is the last chapter to set up the logistics of the plotline before the ball really gets moving. **

**A big shout out to ****SOLDIERSAngel87** **for your lovely review, and your continuing interest in my story. **

**As always, thanks to anybody if you take the time out of your day to read my story. I really appreciate it. And if you feel like it, please leave a review – good or constructive criticism is always welcome. **


	6. The Frank Burns Debacle

Trapper's heart was beating so fast, that he was scared it might pop out of his chest.

The scene before him was so surreal, that for a few seconds; everything around him seemed to move in slow motion.

Both of the screens around Bobbi's bunk were knocked over. The one on the right side of her bed was actually resting on top of a wounded Marine, which in turn, had slightly cracked open the white plaster cast on his left leg.

Klinger had Frank pinned down in the middle of the aisle and was punching his ferret-like facial features into mulch. He did this all while yelling about how nobody hurts Bobbi and gets away with it.

The sight of Bobbi lying helplessly on the floor beside her bed, in a large pool of her own blood was what got to Trapper.

Dark blood was seeping through the angelically white dressing on both her shoulder and leg. To make matters worse, a pair of sharp scissors was embedded into Bobbi's leg wound. The shiny metallic finger holes were all that could be seen of the instrument.

"Klinger what the hell are you doing?" Hawkeye's booming voice caused Trapper to snap out of the fog he was in.

Trapper immediately sprang into action and bolted towards Bobbi. He scooped her up in his arms and placed her back onto her bed. The look of sheer panic in her eyes made Trapper, want to throw up.

"I need a lot of gauze nurse and you better keep it coming!" Trapper ordered in a stern, yet calm fashion - despite his intense emotions.

An animalistic shriek erupted from Bobbi's throat as Trapper increased the pressure on her open leg wound. To her, it felt like there was a thousand-pound steel press crushing her leg.

The sound of Bobbi in distress only heightened the testosterone-fueled rage Klinger was in. He grabbed Frank by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up onto his feet. After laying down an extremely voracious punch, Klinger charged Frank into a nearby bed post, which made the pair collapse onto the thankfully empty bed.

Hawkeye did not know what else to do – flung himself on top of Klinger. He wrapped his arms around the Lebanese's torso and used all of the strength he had in him, to pry him away from Frank.

If it wasn't for the pure adrenaline surging through his body – Hawkeye would have never in a million years stopped Klinger from beating Frank (the ferret-faced), Burns into pulp.

Even though Hawkeye wasn't anywhere close to being physically fit – he did manage to pry Klinger away from Frank.

"Klinger! Klinger god damn it – stop it!" Hawkeye yelled as the younger man flailed about in his arms.

Klinger stopped his manic attempt to escape once he laid eyes on the sight of the Trapper trying to control Bobbi's bleeding.

"Darling!" Klinger exclaimed as he finally broke free from Hawkeye's hold. He immediately dashed to Bobbi's bunk and asked Trapper, "Doc, what can I do?"

"Press your hands down overtop of mine as hard as you can. We have to control this hemorrhaging."

Klinger obeyed the orders like it was second nature. In fact, he applied so much pressure, that Trapper felt a great amount of discomfort himself. Ignoring his own pain, Trapper hollered out, "I need a goddamned gurney here right now! This girl is going to bleed to death otherwise!"

Trapper's latter comment made Klinger apply even more force down on Trapper hands, which subsequently made Trapper bite his own lip to stifle the pain.

Within moments, two orderly's appeared out of nowhere, pushing the gurney that Trapper had requested. They then position themselves at either end of Bobbi's bed and bunched up the sheets that she was lying on within their hands so that they could lift her up and set her down onto the gurney. After the confirming with the two orderly's and Klinger with eye contact; he gave a nod which signalled to all parties to move Bobbi from the bed, onto the gurney.

Thanks to the dedication and intense focus of the team – the move went smoothly, and neither Trapper nor Klinger's moved and centimeter during the switch.

"Alright let's get to Pre-OP right now! I think she has a tear in her femoral artery, so every damn second counts!" Trapper announced to the emergency team around him.

He and Klinger worked like a well synchronized machine, as they matched the pace of Bobbi's gurney step by step, whilst maintaining strong pressure on Bobbi's open wound. Once she was safely transported to Pre-OP; Trapper allowed the nurses to take over while he left to go scrub.

Klinger, on the other hand, stayed back with Bobbi and continued to maintain pressure on her wound. His arms felt like they might fall over from fatigue, but he really didn't care. The pain that he was in was nothing compared to what he imagined Bobbi was going through.

The only way Klinger was going to leave her side would be if he was struck dead by a bolt of lightning.

* * *

_Bobbi found herself travelling down a narrow, black tunnel. Neither time nor physical boundaries had any relevance. It felt like she was a seed of a dandelion floating through the sky, carried away to some unknown destination by a springtime breeze. _

_At some point, her ambiguous journey ended when she finally saw a dim light at what appeared to be the end of the darkness. When Bobbi reached the precipice of the tunnel, she felt herself regain a human form. There was something – some voice to be exact – telling her that she must step forward into the light._

_When she stepped over the threshold; all of her senses returned to her with the velocity of a freight train. _

_Bobbi was cold, very cold – to be exact she felt like she was only a few degrees away from being frozen to death. _

_Her gut ached immensely from hunger, and her lips were flaky and chapped from dehydration. _

_She also felt very dirty, like there was several months of dirt, oil, dust, blood and dried perspiration caked onto her skin. _

_When she looked down to her feet, she was taken aback when she saw._

_She wasn't wearing the standard U.S. army issue combat boots. Instead, she wore a very tattered pair of Fallschirmjager boots. When she looked at her legs, she was even more surprised to find that she was more German paratrooper clothing; a pair of grey jump pants which were at least two sizes too big._

_Hanging at knees was the hem of a brown wool trenchcoat. Suddenly feeling hopeful, she grasped at the collar of the coat and turned it upward so that she could if there was any type of insignia on it. Her eyebrows rose in shock when she a red rectangle with the Soviet Union insignia sewed on overtop with golden thread. _

_Bobbi's head snapped upward to take in her surroundings._ _Delicate flakes of pure white snow floated lazily down from the sky, which added an odd sort of beauty to the landscape. It was as if Mother Nature was attempting to cover up the ugliness that manmade machinery had created. _

_As far as her eyes could see, there were mountains of blackened rubble, which once stood proudly erect as buildings of the city of Warsaw, Poland. _

_A bittersweet feeling of nostalgia overtook Bobbi. She now knew exactly where she was, and what year it was – 1943. _

_Bobbi began to walk at a brisk pace down the cobbled street. Becoming increasingly anxious and impatient, she broke out into a full on sprint. She had to get to the basement – she had to see if he there. _

_As she ran, she didn't even notice that the streets were completely void of any other sign of human life or activity. _

_Block after block she went, weaving her way through the route that she had taken so many times before to ensure her own safety and security. Finally, just as she was on the brink of breathlessness; she reached the brownstone building on the far, east side of town. _

_She glanced discreetly over both of her shoulders to make sure that nobody had been tailing her. Once she had confirmed that the coast was clear, she quickly plodded down the wooden steps that led to the basement door. _

_Bobbi reached into the right-hand pocket of her overcoat and pulled out a cast iron skeleton key from her pocket. She placed into the frosty key hole in the door before her. After a bit of jiggling, the lock finally succumbed to the key and Bobbi was able to open the thin wooden door. _

_As she stepped inside the basement room, she wanted to call out Nikolai's name. The sight before her though, rendered Bobbi completely speechless._

* * *

"Of all the lousy, rotten, despicable, idiotic things Frank has ever done, – this one tops the cake!" Trapper said in an enraged fashion as he and Hawkeye began to scrub for surgery.

"You'll get no argument for me on that one," Hawkeye immediately agreed.

"I spend six fucking hours ensuring that that young lady will be able to walk again, and then that fucking pathetic excuse for a surgeon goes and ruins her chances all because his head was stuck up his ass!"

"Right Trap," Hawkeye said, siding with Trapper's stance. He was angry at Frank no doubt – but not nearly as furious as Trapper was. There had only been a handful of times that he had seen his friend so miffed.

"What the hell are you dawdling around for Hawk? Hurry up and finish scrubbing so that we can get in there, goddammit," Trapper snapped as he turn off his water tap with his elbows, and began to dry his hands with a sterile white towel.

"Coming," Hawkeye sighed. After Trapper made his way into the O.R.; Hawkeye shook his head in wonderment.

What on Earth had gotten into his best friend?

* * *

_Bobbi felt like she was going to pass out at any moment. She had no idea what had happened, but somehow, she had managed to find her way into the depths of a forest. _

_The hot sun was beating down upon her skin like she was a chick nestled beneath a heating lamp. _

_It took Bobbi a moment for her eyes to adjust to the scenery before her, for greenery was all around. _

_Tall pine and willow trees abounded, which were adorned by an endless amount of mountain laurels. Bobbi bent down at plucked one of the flowers from the ground. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savouring the feeling of the sweet scent that overtook her nose. After she exhaled slowly Bobbi tucked the flower in her hair, right above her left ear. _

_Beads of sweat poured down her forehead from the crest of her hairline. Realizing that she was still wearing her winter clothing; Bobbi quickly shed the overcoat, the boots, pants, and the thin male civilian button down shirt that she was wearing. All that was left to cover her was a pair of dark grey, long underwear. _

_Out of nowhere, the voice she heard before urged her to walk forward, yet again. Bobbi had no choice but to navigate her way through the trees, and do whatever the voice told her to do. After what seemed like hours; she had finally found her way out of the brush and found herself standing at the edge of a cliff. _

_In the valley below, she could see over the tops of the trees a corner of a white structure. In the distance, the sound of a banjo could be heard. _

_Bobbi couldn't help but to smile – she was at last home, in Tennessee. She wanted to run back from where she came so that she could make her way down to the house where she had spent her childhood. _

_However, as soon as she started to head in the opposite direction, she found that her feet become stuck to where they were. _

_After several attempts of trying to move, Bobbi finally decided to give up and sat down on the green grass. She felt happier than she had in a very long time and she listened to the sweet mountain music drifting up into the air._

* * *

Trapper and Hawkeye were positioned on opposite sides of the operating table, fully gloved and gowned, ready to begin operating on Bobbi. As Trapper outstretched his palm and was going to ask for a clamp – Colonel Blake came bursting in through the doors from the scrub room, followed by Radar and a fuming Major Houlihan.

"McIntyre, Pierce – I want to know why Post-OP looks like a Kansas tornado just ripped through it. More specifically, I want to know why the hell Frank Burns is slumped down on the floor of my office, with a broken nose and one of the worse shiners I have ever seen!" Henry demanded.

"I can tell you why Colonel – it's because of that degenerate Klinger and that woman's unauthorized presence!" Margaret shouted, unsure as to why Colonel Blake was even bothering talking to Trapper and Hawkeye.

"Wow did Klinger really beat up, Major Burns?" Radar gasped astonished.

"Pierce, McIntyre?" Henry sternly prodded at the surgeons for some answers.

"Colonel Blake, I do not see why you are wasting your time. Just send Radar out to find where Klinger is, haul him into your office so that you can arrest him for physically assaulting a superior officer! I will not stand for you just to sit by and do nothing as usual. Mark my words Colonel; Major Burns and I are going to make sure that Klinger gets lock up and that the key is thrown away!"

"Major, will you just shut up for one moment!" Henry snapped at the head nurse, very irritated by her badgering.

Trapper's eyes quickly grew dark with fury. The last thing he needed right then was to listen to a screaming match while he attempted to save Bobbi's life.

"All of you, if you are not here to help – _then the fucking hell out of my O.R. _!" Trapper shouted as loud, and as wrathful as possible.

The sheer volume and impact of Trapper's statement stopped all conversation for a long, heavy moment.

Trapper let out a sigh of relief, seeing that his outburst of rage had served its purpose. He then commanded, "Clamp nurse."

"Clamp," the scrub nurse repeated as she slapped the instrument down onto Trapper's palm.

"I want to see both of you directly after surgery," Henry addressed both Hawkeye and Trapper before he turned around the leave the room, followed by a wide eyed, Radar.

Before Margaret left, she just had to get in the last word.

"Mark my words, McIntyre – I will make sure that that woman has to book thrown at her for being unauthorized personnel in a combat zone!"

"I hope the door hits you on the fanny on your out!" Hawkeye sneered at Major Houlihan as she turned to leave.

Returning his attention back toward Bobbi, Hawkeye said, "You know Trap, I always knew that Frank Burns had the IQ of a house plant – but never in a million years would I have imagined that he would pull a stunt as retarded as this."

"I need more damn clamps, come on, keep with it!" Trapper barked at his nurse.

After the nurse handed both him and Hawkeye more clamps, Bobbi's bleeding was under control enough for the surgeons to begin suturing the femoral artery. Their fingers had to move fast, or else there was no way Bobbi was going to make it. Even though it only took a minute or so for Hawkeye and Trapper to be successful, it still felt like an eon to them – especially for Trapper.

"Doctor's, the patient's blood pressure is dropping fast," the anesthesiologist informed.

"Damn it!" Trapper swore. He then ordered to a nurse waiting on standby, "Neilson, starting pumping in the blood and hang another unit of A+."

"Yes Doctor," Neilson quickly did as she was told.

After a few moments, the anaesthesiologist took the ear pieces of her stethoscope out from her ears, and said, "Blood pressure is back in the stable range."

Trapper let out a relieved sigh, "Thank God. Come on Hawk, let's be fast about this."

* * *

_One second Bobbi was lying down in the cool mountain grass, listening to the sweet music echo throughout the landscape. The next, she found herself lying down on an itchy bale of hay._

_She jolted up off of the hay and stumbled onto her feet, suddenly finding herself very cold. Bobbi was disappointed to find that when she looked down she was still only wearing her long underwear. _

_Cursing under her breath, she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to try and conserve body heat. _

_Where the hell was she? And why the hell is it so damn cold all of a sudden?_

_Her questions were immediately answered she heard two male voices mumbling incoherently in German._

_She must have fallen asleep while waiting for Iwan, to deliver the part that she and Nikolai needed to complete the radio they had been building for the past five months. Hopefully, the rickety contraption they had pieced together would be the ticket they needed so that they could find get the hell out of Warsaw. _

_The second that she was reunited with Jack and Annie; Bobbi was going to squeeze the stuffing out of them. Spending so much time away from them has made her realize just how much she really loves them. If the four of them do somehow manage to survive the war, she couldn't imagine not living with them back in the States. In fact, any thought of trying to live as a normal person at all after the war, was an inconceivable notion to her._

_Bobbi's thoughts quickly returned to her present day situation though, because she knew that she needed to find a way to sneak out of the warehouse without alerting the Germans of her presence. _

_She obviously knew that they weren't supposed to be there, but she had no idea how to get out. There was only one way in and out of the building, and by the sounds of it, the Germans were standing right in front of the only doorway. She had no shoes, basically no clothing and was shivering like a new born puppy. Never the less, Bobbi knew that she had to try and escape or else she ran a serious risk of freezing to death. _

_With her arms snugly wrapped across her chest and her hands tucked into her armpits, she took her first step. Sadly, her first step led her to trip over a box of some sort, which subsequently made her do a face plant onto the cold concrete floor. _

_The thud of Bobbi falling to the floor alerted the Germans of her presence. The dim lights were turned on and much to Bobbi's dismay, allowed her to see that there wasn't just two Germans – but a whole platoon of them. _

_She quickly tried to scramble up to her feet, but as she was just about upright – she suddenly felt a hot, stinging sensation penetrate her abdomen. Bobbi fell onto her knees, and as she looked down at her body, she found that crimson blood was pouring out from her gut. _

_Feeling the life drain from her body, Bobbi looked up to see who had shot her. Instead of the face of just another battle-hardened S.S. solider – Bobbi found herself looking into the cold, menacing eyes of her Father. He was wearing his class A uniform, with at least a dozen metal and accommodations hung from his chest._

* * *

"Doctor, the patient's pulse is thready and barely there."

"Damn it!" Trapper shouted to himself. "What the hell happened? I thought you said she was stable!"

"I'll keep working on reattaching the nerve endings on the proximal end of the opening, and you work on the distal end. We can do this fast and get her closed up P.D.Q. You're not going to lost her, Trap. We won't let the bastard win today." Hawkeye assured his best friend.

"I hope your right Hawkeye…" Trapper muttered.

* * *

_As Bobbi lay on the cold concrete floor in an ever increasing pool of crimson blood – salty, warm tears flowed down her cheeks. _

_At last, she realized, she was finally at the end of her journey. _

_There'd be no nighttime voyage across the English Channel for her. She'd never return to the United States, to be reunited with darling, Max. All of the plans for their future together after the war, ould never become a reality. _

_She would never be able to look Jack and Annie in the eye, and tell them just how she loved them. Or how stupid the two of them were for not realizing how obvious it is that they are soulmates. _

_She'd never be able to express her eternal gratitude to Nikolai, for making her believe in herself, and giving her the courage to continue on in a hopeless situation. _

_Bobbi soon found it very hard to breath. Her sense of sight and relativity of time, slowly faded as dots of the blackest black she had ever seen, clouded her vision. _

_In the back of her mind, the voice she had been hearing became increasingly loud and full of urgency. It was telling her to let it all go. Moreover, everybody she loved was going to be okay._

_Subconsciously, Bobbi felt like she had no choice but to believe what the voice said. So, with the last bit of strength left in her body, she closed her weary eyes._

* * *

"Doctor's, I'm not getting a pulse."

"I need an emergency tray and needle and syringe of adrenaline stat!" Trapper commanded as she quickly abandoned the muscle he was suturing, and moved his attentions to Bobbi's chest.

He quickly pulled back the draping just enough so that he could get at her heart, without completely exposing her entire chest to the entire O.R. staff.

"Where the hell is my adrenaline?" Trapper shouted anxiously.

He wasn't going to lose, Bobbi. Uncle Sam wasn't about to have this one.

* * *

_When Bobbi opened her eyes again, she found herself floating aimlessly through time and space. Just like before, she found herself being drawn towards a light. This light wasn't dim and dreadful like the one before – this one was brilliantly warm and bright. _

_Once she had finally crossed into the light, a wave of euphoric bliss washed over her. She felt so happy and carefree. None of her Earthly worries or cares seemed to have any importance anymore. _

_For a time, Bobbi found herself blinded by the awesome, bright colours around her. Slowly but surely, her eyes adjusted to the light. When she was able to fully open her eyes, Bobbi, was mesmerized by the sight before her. _

_Every colour a person could imagine was being reflected off of obtusely shaped glass walls. _

_It was by far the most spectacular sight she had ever seen. _

_In the distance, Bobbi saw some sort of floating orb approaching her. Once more, she heard the voice speak to her – it was coming from the orb. "Follow me Bobbi," it said. _

_Feeling safe, Bobbi did as it said. After traveling through what seemed like an endless amount of glassy space, Bobbi finally found herself in a different place. Even though her eyes were closed; she felt confined to a human form once more. _

_A lark was singing off in the distance, while a pleasantly warm sun beat down upon her skin. The dark green grass tickled her feet, and warm breeze tousled her red hair. _

_Bobbi no longer felt bodily pain or fright. She felt whole, more whole than she could ever have imagined or describe. _

_The love she felt around her was so pure and true, unlike anything she had experienced while on Earth. _

_She wanted to stand there for eternity and soak up all of the wonderfully new sensations that she was experiencing. Alas, her moment of bliss did not endure for the voice spoke up yet again. _

"_Look at me Bobbi – you must." _

"_No," Bobbi murmured. She wasn't about to let anybody or anything disrupt the joy she felt. _

"_Please, you have to. It's me – it's me Annie." _

_Mentioning Annie's name was just the thing that Bobbi needed to force herself to open her eyes. Bobbi gasped in astonishment when the form before her really was Annie. _

"_Wha – I mean how? Am I –"_

"_You must grab my hand Bobbi." _

"_Why? What's going on? I don't understand!" Bobbi cried out, reluctant to reach for her dear friend's hand._

"_There isn't much time to waste. He told me it wasn't your time." Annie calmly explained. _

"_Time? Time for what?"_

"_Please Bobbi, I beg of you." _

"_Wha – why?" Bobbi protested. There was no part of her that wanted to leave whatever place she currently in. _

"_You have so much more to do back on Earth. Your journey isn't over. Please, grab my hand." _

_The raw emotion in Annie's tone was so potent, that Bobbi couldn't resist her pleas anymore. The very second her hand touched Annie's – the world before her went dark. _

_Bobbi was travelling somewhere at a high velocity. As she moved through the endless space, Annie's voice rung out once more._

"_From one came two. From two came three..."_

* * *

**A/N: Hello there. So sorry for the delay, yet again. But I have been busy writing other M*A*S*H fics. **

**For those of you who haven't read the older version of this story, I am sure you may be thoroughly confused by many elements of this chapter. Fear not for all shall be explained in due course! **

**I felt that it was best to stop the chapter here, so this will be part 1 of 2. **

**I want to thank everybody who has taken the time to review/follow/favorite my story. It really means a lot to me, seeing as I have spent countless hours thinking about writing it. **

**If you have any thoughts or criticisms, please leave a review. I'd love to hear from you. **** 3 **


	7. The Frank Burns Debacle: Part 2

**Disclaimer: Obviously, after all this time I don't own M*A*S*H…**

* * *

It had only been a little over and hour since Trapper had taken Bobbi into surgery. To Klinger though, it felt more like centuries.

Klinger knew that trouble was surely brewing between the unit's resident Major's and Colonel Blake, about what he did to Frank after that idiot had done to Bobbi. So, from Pre-OP; Klinger headed directly to his tent and locked the door behind him.

While in the company of others, Klinger appeared to be cool and collected. The truth was that on the inside, he was really going through his own personal hell.

After the nurses had wheeled Bobbi away into the O.R; Klinger found had found himself feeling very, very alone. It was the type of loneliness that made you physically ache, and you would do anything to relinquish the pain. Sadly, Klinger was no stranger to this type of emotion – especially when it came to Bobbi.

His arms were wrapped tightly around his chest, and his shoulders were hunched upward from the tension he was feeling, as he paced back and forth across his tiny tent.

Talking to a nameless, greater force that he hadn't spoken to for years; Klinger began pin his frustrations and anguish upon it.

"Fifteen years I've known her. The first time I laid my eyes on her I couldn't help but to stare. I thought to myself, "_the man destined to marry her someday is indeed blessed to receive such a magnificent gift". _Little did I know only a little over a year later, I would lucky enough to call her my Gal. If my sixteen-year-old self could see what would become of Bobbi and me now; my jaw would scrape the floor in utter disbelief." Klinger paused, uncrossed his arms, and shook an angry fist into the air. His tone became notably bitter and remorseful, "Who the hell have I become? Why the hell do you treat me, and especially her, in this way? What have we done to deserve this you stupid bastard!"

The harsh sound of his sewing mannequin crashing down onto the floor, which Klinger had overturned in his sudden fit of rage; amplified the dark mood that had suddenly engulfed the tent.

"She was my world. From the second that I awoke in the morning, to the time that I closed my eyes - all I could think about was her. Why did you make her do the things that she did over in Europe? Don't you know that you ruined our chances of happiness, even before we were able to step out into the world by ourselves! Don't you feel any remorse for the horrid things that have happened to her and me?" He paused for a moment, and as quickly as the demon of anger had invaded his body, it seemed to dissipate.

Out of nowhere the strength was sudden taken away from his lower legs, and he collapsed onto his knees. Stinging, crystal clear tears slowly began to seep from the corners of his eyes as he weakly pleaded to the omniscience presence once more.

"I know that I don't have any right to ask you for favours. I don't know that I don't reach out to you as much other men do… blind faith in a power, greater than myself, has never been something that I could wrap my head around. But please - don't call Bobbi home. Make sure that the doctors can save her. She deserves to live a life outside of the military and the horrors of war. And if you do need to take her today – take me. Oh please –" Klinger's body began to heave and shake violently as the intensity of his crying escalated, "I couldn't bear to lose her all over again. I barely made through last time, and that was while I was in States with my family and friends to lean on. Here in this black hole – I know that the only way I'd ever be okay would be to grab my rifle and shoot myself in the head."

A weight was lifted from Klinger's chest, having finally spoken his mind. He collapsed to the side and simply laid down on floor, with his knees tucked up to his chest.

Tears continued to flow softly down his cheeks as he simply waited to see what path God was going to choose.

* * *

"There," Trapper sighed with great relief, as he finished knotting the very last suture in Bobbi's thigh, "all finished. I've done the best I can."

The wary sound defeat in Trapper's tone alarmed Hawkeye, whom was standing on the other side of the operating table. As a best friend and fellow surgeon, Hawkeye knew exactly what he needed to say.

"Damn right you did, Trap. You were quick, but neat and thorough at the same time. There's no reason that she isn't going to make a full recovery."

"Thanks, Hawk," Trapper sighed. To him; Hawkeye's comment felt more so along the lines of patronization rather than praise. He knew though that Hawkeye's intentions were well meant.

Trapper realized that two orderlies and the nurses were waiting for further instructions. So, he put his insecurities aside began to give orders.

"Nurse, go on ahead and double check that Post OP is back in order before Goldman and Daniels here take her back to her original bed. I'll be there right after I change out of these scrubs to give medication and further care instructions."

The nurse nodded in acknowledgement and signalled with a wave of her hand for the orderlies to step in, as she left O.R. for Post OP.

Hawkeye and Trapper then exited through the doors to the scrub room and went behind the curtain to the men's changing area. Hawkeye proceeded to plant his bottom down on the wooden bench beneath the rack where the surgeons hung their uniforms, as is customary for the surgeons at the 4077th after coming out of an O.R. session. Trapper, on the other hand, did not. Instead, he began to change hastily out of his scrubs.

"Hey Trap, where the fire? Come on, sit for a minute," Hawkeye suggested, noting Trapper's unusual behaviour.

"No," Trapper responded rather curtly. "Didn't you just hear me say I'd be right along to Post OP?"

"Right," Hawkeye said a little peeved and confused by Trapper's reaction. He then remembered about the fuss Colonel Blake and Major Houlihan caused right before he and Trapper went to work on Bobbi. Wanting to help Trapper feel more at ease about the entire scenario, he stood and began to shed his scrubs. "I'm gonna go to Colonel Blake's office like he said to, and see is I can get a straight answer about what the hell happened earlier. I want to know why Klinger decided to beat the shit out of Frank, and what that's got to do with Bobbi's leg being torn open like she was a freshly roasted lamb."

Trapper's eye immediately became brighter at the sound of Hawkeye showing interest in the matter. "Good, I'll be along as soon as I can."

* * *

When Hawkeye walked into Radar's office, he found the company clerk intensely focused on flipping through the various file folders in the top drawer of one of this filing cabinet. Through the thin wooden doors that connected Henry's office to Radar's; Hawkeye could hear Major Houlihan screeching like an alley cat about insubordination.

"Hiya Radar, how's it going in there?" Hawkeye made his presence known to the company clerk.

"Oh you know, about how you would expect. Major Houlihan is demanding the gallows for Klinger and is threatening to have the female patient booted out of the service." Radar replied without looking up from his files. "Jeez, you know I just had that my file out that contains all the forms necessary for filing a request for a Court Marshal. Where on Earth could it have gone?"

"Don't you remember Radar – you used up the last of them two weeks ago when Frank insisted that Trapper and I be tried for interfering with an officer's natural body functions?" Hawkeye interjected. A rather devilish smirk spread across his face thinking about the incident.

"That right! You and Captain McIntyre tied the strings on Major Burns' boots together while he was asleep. You dressed him in that big pink bunny suit Captain McIntyre ordered from Tokyo, and painted a pink nose and black whiskers on his face. Then you put his hand in an helmet full of warm water. When Major Burns woke up, he had to er - go to the latrine. Didn't he have to go so bad that he didn't have time to untie boots, so he had to hop all the way across the compound to the latrine?"

"That's right," Hawkeye proudly boasted.

"You and Captain McIntyre really do weird stuff when you have nothing to do – did you know that?"

"We're not weird! We just use our spare time in a very creative fashion." Hawkeye puffed his chest out in fake offense.

"Jeepers, I really don't want to have to go back in there and have to tell the Major that I am all out of Court Marshal forms. It's going to take at least three days until I-Core will send me the forms I have to fill out to request more Court Marshal forms!" Radar suddenly became very antsy. He began to nibble on his short nails out of nervousness.

"Don't worry kid – I'll go in with you. I promised Trapper that I'd update the Colonel and our, oh so pleasant matriarch on Captain Morango's condition." Hawkeye said as he placed a reassuring hand on Radar's shoulder.

"Right," Radar replied, not sounding too reassured by Hawkeye's companionship. He often found that Hawkeye's lack of seriousness only enraged Major Houlihan further.

"And furthermore Colonel, I intend to see that a full medical panel is assembled to ensure that that nefarious, waste of skin, Klinger is locked away in a padded cell where he belongs!" Margaret squalled like a stock broker on the floor of the New York stock exchange.

"Major will you clam up for one second and let me get a word in!" Henry shouted out of pure frustration as he stood from the chair behind his desk.

This outburst did, in fact, silence the fiery Major for a moment. But of course, the interval was cut short by the astonished gasp that escaped her throat, which was followed by an inevitable cry of outrage, "How dare you continue to speak to your head nurse – not to mention a fellow commissioned of the United State Army – in such a crude, degrading, fashion!"

Before Margaret could bridge into yet another raving rant; Hawkeye raised his voice to make his presence known. "You're a nurse, toots? I thought you were a Marine Sergeant in drag?"

Margaret immediately spun around and snapped at Hawkeye, "That comment is beneath acknowledgement!"

"Good! Let me know when you decided to acknowledge it," Hawkeye replied sardonically. He then ignored the death glare that Margaret was giving him, and walked up to Henry's desk.

"How's the patient, Pierce?" Henry asked seriously.

"She's stable for now – we were able to control the hemorrhaging in time. I think if Trapper would jumped into action a minute later than he did, she would be alive right now. Trapper and I were able clean out the wound, but there was a lot of debris in there – the formation of gangrenous tissue is high possibility."

"Well whatever happens now Pierce, I'm sure that you and McIntyre did everything you could." Henry added on, noting the disgusted on Hawkeye's face in regards to the entire, lopsided situation.

"Yeah but the question is, if everything is enough to counteract Frank's monumental, medical incompetency?" Hawkeye jabbed. "What the hell happened in Post OP anyways? What's Frank's story?"

"Major Burns is not at fault!" Margaret immediately jumped in to defend her lover's character.

"Yeah then who the hell got those scissors stuck in the patient's leg – Jack the Ripper?"

"Captain Pierce!" Margaret snarled. But Henry quickly cut in, stopped the Major before she could even get going.

"Major Houlihan! Now I have sat here for damn near two hours listening to you foam at the mouth. Get Frank in here so that we can hear his side of the story." Henry then turned his attention to Radar whom was lingering by the doors. "Radar, go find out where the hell Klinger is and drag him in here so that we can hear his side of the story, too."

"Yes sir!" Radar immediately complied, happy to be able to get out of the path of Major Houlihan's fury. But alas, he was not so lucky. Just as he spun around on his heels to make his escape, she spoke up.

"Corporal, wait just a second. Did you find the Court Marshal forms yet?"

"I uh, er, well –" Radar fumbled over his words. He looked at Hawkeye, in the hope that he'd help him out.

Thankfully, Hawkeye caught on immediately and cut in, "He's out. So the little inquisition you're planning is going to have to be put off for a few days." Knowing that Margaret was about to implode at any moment, he waved Radar away, "Go Radar before the Major here ties you upside down by your boot laces."

Radar nodded and scrambled as fast as he could out of the office. He knew that he definitely owed Hawkeye a favour for helping him out.

Not wanting to deal with Henry's and Hawkeye's insubordination further, Margaret huffed in anger, and then stormed out of the office to go collect Frank.

Henry's unusually rigid posture reverted back to his usual slouch, the second that Margaret was out of sight. He immediately went for his liquor cabinet and pulled out a fresh bottle of Kentucky bourbon and two glass tumblers. He set the glass down in the middle of his desk, and poured Hawkeye and himself a rather hefty portion.

"Belly up to the bar, Pierce, because the second Major Fink and Finkette, see Klinger – we're probably going to become witnesses to a second degree murder."

Hawkeye pulled up one of the three khaki painted wooden chairs that were scattered throughout the office, up to Henry's desk. He picked up one of the glasses and at the same time as Henry; downed it in one gulp. After both he and Henry got their required male gasps, and lips curls from just having ingested a strong liquor, out of the way – Henry was the first to speak what was on both of men's minds.

"I've seen Major Houlihan blood thirsty before, but never like this."

"Did she say what Frank excuse was, as to why Klinger decided to redecorate Frank's face?"

"Something about Frank reading Captain Morango's chart wrong."

"What an ass Frank is," Hawkeye scowled. "You know it's probably going to be near impossible to keep Trapper from taking his turn at pummelling Frank's face in. I haven't seen him this pissed off since that time he received those pictures of his girls in the mail, and he got drunk and tried to go AWOL."

Henry waited to reply until he had finished pouring himself and Hawkeye another drink. After each man took a smaller sip that before; Henry asked Hawkeye, "Wouldn't you be too, if Frank almost killed one of your patients like that?"

"Yeah, you've got a point." Hawkeye sighed, realizing that if he were in Trapper's shoes, he'd want to make an invalid out of Frank more than usual.

Hawkeye had a feeling that the disaster was the starting point of the chain of events, which would most likely be the beginning of the unravelling of his best friend.

Lately he noticed that Trapper's spirits had been slowly dwindling. He didn't to pull practical jokes as much as before. The amount of alcohol he consumed has also increased to the point that Hawkeye was beginning to wonder if he should start to worry about it. Each time he had a borderline case; Trapper would spout off more than usual about how useless and destructive war is. He'd especially get stuck on the point about how the government had no right pull men away from their families, only to participate in a war that they had no right to intervene in, in the first place.

Mail call days were the worst. Up until about four or five months ago, Trapper could always count on getting a letter from each of his daughters. Every other mail call he'd get a short note from his wife, too. But lately, he'd receive nothing. If he did, it was a letter from Louise and after reading it – Trapper's mood would instantaneously turn sour. He'd then spend the rest of the day drinking beer and playing pinball in the Officer's Club. By the end of those days, Hawkeye would usually have to argue with Trapper until he stopped drinking and stormed off to the Swamp, where he would inevitably pass out.

If Bobbi had to lose her leg or the worst would happen and she wouldn't pull through – Hawkeye was very afraid that Trapper would have to be sent off in an ambulance down to Seoul, for an extended visit with Sidney Freedman.

* * *

After about an hour or so, Klinger had managed to scrape himself off of the floor. He was only able to do that because several troubling thoughts outside of Bobbi's physical health began to swirl around his mind like a winter flurry.

It wasn't long until he found himself pacing back and forth across his small tent, spewing out his intimate thoughts out loud.

"What the hell were you thinking Maxwell Klinger? Knocking out a superior officer's lights is a court martial offense! They could throw in the stockade and throw away the key! Sure I'd be out of the war, but that's not how I want to do it. A section eight is the only real to get out this bloodbath without too much damage.

Then there is the matter of what the people here in this camp must be thinking right now. First I blow up on Major Houlihan in O.R. and then the incident in Post OP. By now these people must be running their mouths off about how obvious it is that I have feelings for Bobbi that are more than just friendship. I'm a married man – everybody here knows it! These people sure love a good scandal; I hope that none of them try to pry the details about our relationship out of me or Bobbi. It's frankly none of their damn business!

Besides, even if they did – what the hell would I say? During World War Two the hospital ship Bobbi was assigned to got sunk by Kraut torpedo, and then her along with the rest of the survivors got pick up by a Kraut destroyer and were taken prisoner. Somehow she ended up behind enemy lines in Europe and fought with the local resistance fighters until the Allies were able to get to her and her American companions. And since then, she's been stuck in the service because God only knows what runs through General's heads! I thought I'd never see Bobbi again when she got shipped over to Korea, so I thought it'd be a good idea to start going steady with her teenage nemesis.

Yeah that'd be a spectacular story. I'm sure somebody would ask if I've been sniffing my nail polish again. Dammit, you know-" Klinger shut his mouth the second he caught the sight of Radar standing in his doorway.

Radar's eyes were wide like saucers and jaw dropped as far as it could go. Klinger could definitely tell that Radar had heard every word of his rant. Knowing that he had to do damage control, and fast – he walked up to Radar and utilized his volatile temper.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Not that long - honest!" The intensity in Klinger's voice really frightened Radar.

"How much did you hear? Come on, spit it out!" Klinger wasn't buying Radar's weak bluff at all.

"I j-j-just heard you talk about how your scared about what Major Burns is going to do to you. Then you said something about how you don't want people to gossip about you and the female patient, because you didn't want to explain that the Captain was taken prisoner in the last war and now you can't be with her because she's still in service so that's why you married Laverene." Radar instantly regurgitated most the details he had overheard.

"So then you then you heard all of it!" Klinger roared. He then raised a fist in the air and shook it in front of Radar's face. "Don't you ever mention any of that to anybody – ever! Otherwise I'm going to rearrange your face like I did to Major Burns. You got that kid?"

"Y-y-yes Klinger," Radar gulped nervously.

"Good now scram!"

"Yes sir!" Radar was so frightened that he accidently called him sir, because Klinger's booming, angry tone reminded him of the officers that would yell at him all the time during basic training.

He scrambled out of the tent but quickly turned around when Klinger opened up his tent door and called him to come back. Standing just outside of his tent, Klinger asked the company clerk, "Why were you in my tent in the first place?"

"I uh – er, Colonel Blake wants to see you in his office to hear your side of what happened in Post OP," Radar replied tentatively.

Even though Klinger sounded slightly calmer than a few moments before, the darkness in his eyes told Radar otherwise.

Klinger ground his back molars together and narrowed his eyes at Radar. He studied the company clerk's face to see if he was withholding some information from him. For all Klinger knew, there could be two MP's waiting to haul him away so that he can start his career as a convict. Ultimately, he decided that Radar was telling the truth because even though he had just scared the pants off of the kid – Radar wouldn't lie to him about something so serious.

"Fine. Tell him I'll be there in two minutes," Klinger muttered before turning around and vanishing back inside of his tent.

Radar however, stayed still for a moment out of pure shock. He had just witnessed side of Klinger that nobody in the camp ever seen before. Listening to Klinger talk about Bobbi, he recognized the element of passion in Klinger's voice that was truly human. None of the facades of his daily antics, or over the top personality was present. Klinger was simply being himself – somebody who was deeply worried about a person he loves.

* * *

During the interval that Hawkye and Henry were waiting for Radar, Klinger and the two Major's to return; Trapper strolled in from Post OP.

"Henry – did Hawkeye fill you in on the status of Captain Morango?" Trapper asked as he pulled up a wooden chair beside Hawkeye and sat down. He then pointed to bottle of bourbon sitting on the middle of the desk, "give me one of those. I can sure use one."

As Henry got up and grabbed Trapper a glass from his liquor cabinet, he replied to Trapper, "Yeah he did. Sounded like it was pretty dicey in there for a while."

"Damn right," Trapper nodded. After he had poured himself a drink and took a rather generous sip of it; he inquired to nobody in particular, "So, do we know what motivated Frank try and carve that girl up like a Christmas ham?"

"No," Hawkeye was the first to answer, "we're just waiting for Houlihan to grab Frank from the Swamp, while Radar tries to track down our Lebanese dark horse."

"Uh huh," Trapper sighed. All of his intense anger and overall exhaustion had caused a dull ache to form around his temples.

Just then the office doors burst open, as Margaret ushered Frank inside with a distinct look of worry was plastered across her face.

"Now just take it easy Major. There is a chair right in front of you. That's right; careful now," Margaret instructed in a motherly fashion.

A pathetic whimper escaped from Frank as he took a seat. There was a dark purple, ring of discolouration was prominent around his right eye. In the morning, he was sure to have a shiner as black as coal. His lower lip was swollen, and cracked slightly to the left of the centre of his face. Brownish and red bruises covered most of right, as well as some of his left cheek bones. There were also three shallow lacerations across the left side of his forehead.

It was safe to say when the other three doctors saw Frank's face; they all shared expressions of varying degrees of shock.

Hawkeye, of course, burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. Many times in his dreams had he fanaticized about beating up Frank. The fact that an overly hairy, cross-dressing, Toledo native beat him to it, was somehow more satisfying than if Hawkeye had been the perpetrator himself.

The feeling of unadulterated disgust and anger instantly formed as a hard lump in Trapper's chest at the sight of Frank. Yes, the fact that Frank looked like he had just lost three rounds with Muhammad Ali was well deserved in Trapper's mind. However, Frank probably wouldn't be able to walk if Trapper had been in the ward when the event had gone down.

Henry's jaw dropped so low that the skinny cigar that was dangling lazily from between his lips, fell onto his desk. Major Houlihan had whisked Frank away to get treated for his injuries right after Klinger had Post OP; so he was seeing Klinger's damage for the first time as well.

"Captain Pierce! Don't you have an ounce of humanity in your lecherous soul? How dare you laugh at the misfortune of a sick man – not to mention a superior officer!" Margaret barked at Hawkeye.

"I – I just can't –" Hawkeye couldn't even formulate a proper comeback because he was laughing so hard.

"Colonel Blake, I demand that you put Pierce in line this instant!" Margaret turned her attention to Henry, realizing that she would never get anywhere by harping at Hawkeye.

"Holy Moses – Frank – you look about as bad as I did in the fourth grade after I tried to get my lunch back from the neighbourhood bully," Henry blurted out. He was to entranced by Frank's appearance to acknowledge Margaret's comment.

"Oh can we just get on with it! Major Burns is in a lot of pain, and the sooner we get this over with, the sooner he can return to resting." Margaret snapped. Her patience was definitely beginning to thin.

"We have to wait for Klinger to get here," Trapper added harshly.

Right then, Radar burst through the doors causing all the attention in the room to be turned to him.

"Where's Klinger?" Henry asked, annoyed that he wasn't with Radar.

"He'll be along any second now," Radar answered nervously. His experience with Klinger, combined with heavy tension and anger he felt in the room made him feel very uncomfortable.

By this point, Hawkeye had managed to get a hold of his laughter, so he noticed the wary expression through the young Iowan's bottle cap glasses. "Hey Radar what's the matter," Hawkeye questioned, "you look you just realized that Santa Claus isn't real."

"What? Uh, it's nothing sir," Radar bluffed, remembering the warning to keep his mouth shut which Klinger had given him earlier. He then proceeded to address Henry, "is that all for now Colonel?"

"Yes Radar," Henry replied absently.

Just as Radar had promised, Klinger entered the hostile filled office. On the outside, Klinger's demeanor appeared to be rigid and angry; like he'd be ready to launch into aggression at any moment. If you looked in his eyes though, there was a torturous look of worry in his deep brown eyes.

"Good you're here Klinger, now we can get this circus over with," Henry commented dryly. He then turned his gaze from the centre of the room where Klinger was standing; to where Margaret and Frank where sitting, just to the left of his desk. "Alright Frank, out with it - why'd Klinger attack you?"

"Major Burns had just returned from leave, as you know, and decided to go check up on the patients in Post OP-"

"Major Houlihan – if Major is really serious about pressing charges against Klinger, then I'd like to hear his story from his own mouth!" Henry interrupted, annoyed with the Major's usual act of interchangeability.

Margaret grunted in annoyance, but ultimately gave Frank the nod to begin speaking. She only hoped that he wouldn't bungle up the speech that they had rehearsed earlier in the privacy of the Swamp.

"Well," Frank began. His speech slightly distorted thanks to his cracked lip and sore jawbone, "as the Major said; I decided to go check up on the case in Post OP. I looked in on two patients with minor wounds before reviewing the female patient's chart. I thought that the one signifying that the patient had been in the hospital for one day looked more like a seven to me. Noting the number of days since surgery, I decided that it was time for the patient's sutures to be removed." Frank's voice instantly became a bit louder and more aggressive as he continued. "That's when that lunatic of a pervert started to assault me. I tried to fight back, but the Corporal was as crazed as a mad dog sir! Keeping him on this base any second longer is putting the safety of every person in this unit in jeopardy."

"Frank – throwing your hands up in the air and crying "_Uncle",_ is not fighting back." Hawkeye quipped as he glared at Frank with revulsion.

Hearing that Bobbi had almost lost her life because Frank couldn't read a chart properly; ignited the simmering fury that was floating in Trapper's chest. He quickly jumped to his feet, causing his chair to jerk backwards and emit a cringe worthy scarping noise.

"You stupid, worthless piece of shit!" Trapper shouted as he charged directly at Frank. He was only able to grab Frank by the shirt collar and throw him off his chair to the floor; before Hawkeye's and around his chest and pulled him away from Frank.

"Trapper stop it! He's not worth the trouble." Hawkeye shouted as he struggled to keep his hold on his friend.

"Major Burns!" Margaret gasped in fright and she immediately bent down help a traumatized Frank back up on the chair. "Did he hurt you?"

When Frank shook his head no, Margaret immediately spun around and got in Trapper's face. "You just assaulted a superior officer – Major Burns should charge you alongside Klinger!"

Even though Trapper had stopped trying to escape Hawkeye's hold; Hawkeye still held on with all his might because he knew how unpredictable Trapper could be when he was this angry.

"You just try Major Medusa and see how much sympathy Frank will get in a court room, once the judge hears that he has the medical competency and common sense of a snail!" Trapper growled.

If the Majors were going to try and take Trapper down – he'd bring them down right alongside him.

"Alright, enough people!" Henry's voice boomed through the room like a canon.

It wasn't often that Colonel Blake raised his voice like that, so when he did – everybody knew not to challenge him. He had reached his boiling point, and wasn't going to put up with any more anger or arguing.

Hawkeye let go of Trapper, and everybody's posture immediately deflated; their attentions fixed on their commanding office.

"Klinger, did you attack Major Burns so that he'd stop hurting the patient?" Henry got right down to the point.

"That's right," Klinger nodded, feeling thankful that the Colonel wasn't taking Major Burns and Houlihan's side. "I was just entering Post OP from leaving to go to the latrine. I heard her scream in pain, and instantly ran to her bed and saw Major Burns with a pair of scissors in his hand and blood beginning to seep from Bobbi's leg. That's when I tackled him."

"How did the instrument get imbedded in the wound, which led to the hemorrhaging?" Henry went right to the next obvious question.

"Major Burns yanked on the lace collar of my dress which made me lose my balance and we rolled over top of Bobbi, before he landed on the floor, rolled, and knocked the screens around her bed down. Somehow during that, the scissors must have gotten stuck in her wound." As Klinger explained, it was evident to every person in the room that Klinger was supressing a deep-seated, wrathful, rage.

"So you're saying that it isn't Major Burns' fault at all. It could have been either you or Frank's weight that could have embedded the scissors in the patient's open wound!" Margaret was quick to point out what she saw as a fallacy, in Klinger's claim of innocence.

"Are you deaf, Major?" Trapper shouted. Part of him couldn't believe the words that just came out of her mouth.

"Excuse me?"

"Everybody shut up!" Henry used his loud voice to take control of the situation before things began to really escalate again. "Klinger I want to see you at 08:30 tomorrow morning so Radar can take down an official statement. Frank – I'll see you at 10:00 hours for your statement. Sound good?" After looking around and noting that both Frank and Klinger were bobbing their heads in agreement, he concluded, "Now all of you get out my office."

Klinger was the first to depart, followed by Margaret leading Frank out by the arm like he was a blind man, and then Hawkeye and Trapper began to slowly leave.

"Not you McIntyre," Henry singled out Trapper.

Hawkeye was already out the door when Henry called, so it was only Trapper left in the small office anyways. When he turned around and walked up to the desk; Henry added in his final point on the matter for the day.

"You have my word McIntyre – I'm not going to let those two get their way this time," Henry referred to Margaret and Frank. "What Frank did was beyond excusable, and if this had happened back in the States, he would probably lose his licence over it. I can't do that good over here in a warzone, but I'll make damn sure that they don't go after you, your patient or Klinger – even if it kills me."

Trapper found himself genuinely surprised by the pure conviction in his commanding officer's voice. He would have never guessed in a million years that Henry would have such strong backbone – but you never know what lies beneath the surface of a man.

"You know what Henry - your not to bad after all."

* * *

**A/N: Whoot! Chapter 7. So now we know that yes it was indeed Frank's lack of smarts that caused this terrible incident. Hopefully Klinger's two rants gave you readers a bit of clue as to Bobbi's and Klinger's history, as well as sort of explained some of Bobbi's flashbacks from the previous chapter. **

**Also I hope that Trapper's anger wasn't OOC. If you watch his character closely, when it comes to his patients, he is very, VERY protective of them – even more so than Hawkeye in my opinion. Good examples are in Radar's report, and his case in the Season 1 finale (can't remember its name right now!) **

**I am curious to see how you think Radar is going to handle the information he overheard in Klinger's tent?**

**Thanks to all of my reviewers, they really do encourage me to keep on writing! **

**As always, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my story, and ask if you have any thoughts/constructive criticism please leave a review. **


	8. The Consequences of War

After Klinger had left Henry's office, he went straight back to his tent. The second that the flimsy wooden door shut behind him, he let out an exalted sigh of relief. Bobbi was okay – she may not be physically sound – but none the less her soul was still with the living.

He didn't have duty until eleven the next morning, so he decided to put off seeing Bobbi for a few hours.

Klinger was drained emotionally and physically, and wearing a dress with high heels was just not something he had the strength to do at the moment. So, he proceeded to shed all of his clothes besides his bloomers (at the moment he didn't own an actual pair army issue pair of skivvies), and put on a khaki t-shirt with a pair grey satin pajama pants that were technically for ladies, but looked unisex to him. Finally, he slipped his feet into his soft, fuzzy pink slippers.

He then dragged his foot locker out from the far right-hand corner of his tent and placed it on top of his cot. After digging through various drawers in his sewing table, he finally found the key to it wedged into the hollow, circular core of a spool of black thread. Sitting down cross-legged on his cot; he opened it the chest. He rummaged through the various overstretched bras and other worn clothing until he found the items that he was looking for. It was a large brown legal envelope that was stuffed full of various letters, postcards notes and a small photo album.

He set the brown, leather bound album onto his lap and opened up the cover. The first picture was of course of him and Bobbi – much like the rest of photos in the album was. This particular photograph was probably one of his top three, all-time favorites of the two of them.

It was snapped on July 28th, 1938 – Klinger's sixteenth birthday. Earlier in the day, Klinger had successfully passed his road test and became a licenced automobile driver. It was a very proud moment for him, as well as for most of his family. He was only the fourth member of the entire Klinger clan in America who had gotten a driver's licence.

His Uncle Ashraf was so proud of him that he let him borrow his red, 1936, President model Studebaker for the night.

Just like practically every sixteen-year-old boy does throughout time after he gets his licence; Klinger picked up his gal to take her out.

The second he got home and all of the numerous congratulations from several members of his family and extended family out of the way – he called up Bobbi. He told her to put on of the fancy dresses her Mother wore when she fiddled for dances back in Tennessee. He also wanted her to wear the matching blue pearl choker and earring set Bobbi's had gotten as a gift from him a few months ago.

A few hours later, the little hand on the clock was finally the six. Klinger practically sprinted out of his house when he saw that it was time to pick her up and hopped into his Uncle car. He was so excited to show off his accomplishment, (as well as anxious to see how Bobbi had dolled herself up) that he sped the entire way. When he screeched to a halt in front of her house, he was surprised to find that Bobbi was waiting on the porch alone. Her mother was sitting on the porch swing beside her, with a Polaroid camera in hand.

The next thing he knew; he and Bobbi were the victims of an endless barrage of photographs. After at least ten different snapshots; Bobbi's mother asked Klinger if he like to snap a picture of Bobbi posing with the car.

He didn't even have to think twice about it – of course he wanted to!

This, of course, resulted in the photograph that Klinger was currently staring at in Korea.

Bobbi was wearing a crème coloured, lace covered dress that stopped just after her knees. Around the hem, there was a strip of soft blue ribbon which matched the colour of her pearl set. The short sleeves of the dress were puffed upward slightly in the shoulder, and also had the same blue ribbon around the cuffs of them. Of course, none of these colours was shown in the black and white photograph, but Klinger's memory filled in the blanks.

Bobbi was kneeling on the front seat on the passenger side. The window was rolled all the way down, so she rested her elbows on the edge of the door. One of her hands was supporting her face while the other was in the process of being run through the crown of her red hair.

Once the picture had finished developing, Klinger jaw practically scraped the concrete when he saw how gorgeous Bobbi looked. He knew even then at sixteen years old that he was the biggest fool the world had ever seen if he didn't marry that girl someday.

Alas, there he was; stuck in a war nobody seemed to want to be in, and married to another woman while Bobbi was fighting for her life in a hospital bed.

Klinger set the photo album aside as he slowly shook his head in disgust at his own actions.

_How the hell did their lives get to this insane point? _

It was a rather ambiguous question to think, for Klinger knew exactly how and why. He sighed and flipped through the papers in the brown envelope until he found the letter he was looking for.

_May 3__rd__, 1942_

_My Darling Max, _

_I am sorry that I did not call you two Tuesday's ago like I had promised to in my last letter. I do have a valid excuse as to why I didn't though – out of nowhere my C.O. barraged into Annie and I's tent and told us to gather up all of our gear. Two hours later we found ourselves on a train heading for the New York port. Nine miserable days later, we arrived at where I am today – England. _

_That's right. I am no longer in America. _

_Apparently, Annie and I are to join up with about a dozen other girls from around the country, whom all got roped into the service the way we did, for more intensive nursing training. _

_For now, though, we are just stuck sitting in some crummy building, which used to be a hostile before the war broke out, for further orders._

_I am not going to lie to you Max – I am terrified. The __Luftwaffe__ bombs the location we are in (I cannot say where) every night. _

_I don't want to die… _

_I have no idea after our special training is over with, where these dunderheads in command are going to assign me. I could end up right near the fighting in a field hospital in Africa for all I know. _

_More than anything, I wish that you and I could travel back in time and go back to that god awful night and decided not to try and steal that man's Chevrolet . Then I never would have tripped over that dumb street curb while attempting to flee and got arrested. _

_I hope that after a few months, this new military program where they grab delinquent woman and train them to be nursing aids, goes belly up. Then I can return home to you and life can go back to normal… I miss you so damn much Maxwell. I pray that this war will end every morning and night – then we can finally get married and move down to my old home in Tennessee and live in peace. _

_I have to close now. It's time for Annie and me to find some sort of hot chow. _

_Love your Darling, _

_Bobbi R. Morango_

Klinger felt like he was going to be sick if he delved any more into the past. So, he carefully put all of his memoirs back into the bottom of his footlocker and sealed it shut.

He then left his tent, and decided to go back to Post OP to find out how Bobbi was doing. When he arrived there and slipped behind Bobbi's screened barrier; he was pleased to see that Trapper was sitting on a stool, checking his work on Bobbi's leg underneath the bandage.

Klinger cleared his throat to make his presence known. Trapper looked up, and was not at all surprised to see that the intruder was the Lebanese Corporal.

"She still hanging on, Doc?" Klinger asked as he walked over to the opposite side of her bed and sat down on an empty blood shipping crate at the head of her bed.

Trapper waited until he finished reapplying the dressing before answering, "So far. I'm sticking around all night though, to monitor for any sign of gangrene or any other type of infection she could have caught from her wound being exposed to all of the crap that lives on this floor. There was a lot of debris in her wounds before Frank had to go and screw everything up."

The simple act of Trapper, uttering Frank's name, caused Klinger's blood pressure to spike. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to be in the same room with the Major again, and be able control his undeniable desire to crack his skull open.

There was only one other person in the world that had hurt Bobbi to the extent of what Frank had done – her Father. In that situation as well, Klinger found himself wanting to send him to an early grave. He'd even gone so far as to poking the tip of his switch blade into her Father's stomach. But ultimately he lost the nerve when he remembered that it wouldn't do Bobbi any good if he were sentenced to life the prison...

"The Colonel should throw him in the stockade for what he did," Klinger growled through clenched teeth. His temper mounting; he raised a fist into the air and shook at Trapper, "And just because he had two oak clusters on his shirt collar and I've got lavender perfume and white lace on mine – I should take the fall for the Major's idiocy!"

"Eh' I don't like the situation any more than you!" Trapper exclaimed as he threw his hand up in the air in defense.

"The nerve of those two louses, wanting to throw me in the clink, just so that Major Burns doesn't get his already tarnished reputation more tainted!"

"Klinger," Trapper raised his voice a tad to get his attention, "I just talked to the Colonel not too long ago and he said that he isn't going to let the Major's, get to you or Bobbi. He gave me his word."

Klinger's defensive posture deflated slightly. He narrowed his gaze at the surgeon and inquired, "On the level, Captain?"

Trapper nodded in confirmation. He then got up, grabbed his stool and placed it up by the head of the cot, so that he and Klinger sitting identically on each side of Bobbi. He rested his back against the back wall, and crossed his arms across his chest.

"You know Klinger, you may dress like a lady – but you demonstrated today that you're a real man."

Klinger arched an eyebrow at Trapper, and with a sly grin replied, "I told you before that I'm not just another pretty face."

* * *

It was two-thirty in the morning, but both Klinger and Trapper had kept true to their word and stayed by Bobbi's side.

Frank who was supposed to be on the graveyard shift in Post-OP never showed up to work. So, Trapper filled in and helped out the nurses when they asked. As soon as the situation was under control – he immediately returned to his perch by Bobbi's cot.

It ticked Trapper off that he had to pick up Frank's slack while the ferret faced Major played victim; when Bobbi lye in a hospital fighting for her life.

Klinger was actually somewhat pleased by Trapper having to leave for short intervals, because every time that he did leave; Klinger would be able to put his guard down. He was able to simply gaze upon the face of the one person in world besides his Mother that loved him unconditionally.

Bobbi never cared that he wasn't the best looking, or the smartest guy in the world. She didn't care that he came from way below the poverty line, or that he came from a family of Lebanese immigrants. The fact that he tended to act before thinking and his short fuse of a temper didn't deter her wanting to develop a deep bond with him. She loved him for who he was – flaws and all.

Since February 14th of 1942 – Klinger dreamed of the day that he would be finally reunited Bobbi. He figured her eighteen months of duty would be up and then they could resume trying to build the happy home together that they had dreamed about since they were young teenagers. Nine years later, and the damned Army still held her hostage.

He didn't know anything about what she did over in Europe, while behind enemy lines. All he knew for sure was that it was bad enough for Uncle Sam to want to keep her around so that he could keep a close eye on her - but not bad enough for her to be thrown into the stockade.

She only mentioned the people she was with for those two years of hell, a handful of times.

There was an American Jewish fighter pilot named Jack, who immigrated to Louisiana when he was two with the rest of his family. Also, a Russian-born, U.S. Navy surgeon named Nikolai and lastly, her friend Annie that she had met right after the military had whisked Bobbi away, ended up behind the frontline together.

The United States Military intervention in their lives had ruined any decent chance for him and Bobbi to ever really live like a normal couple. Even though they had tried their best to make a long distance relationship flourish through letters and telephone wires – the distance was just too much of a strain on the relationship.

When he heard the announcement over the radio at Paco's in Toldeo, that the United States military would be sending troops over to Korea to fight the communist's – he knew that it was the beginning of the end of any chance for Bobbi to return home to his arms.

Sure enough, Bobbi was among some of the first nurses who were selected to make the voyage across the Pacific. Four months later when Klinger received his own draft notice – he knew that the small flame of the hope for a future with the love of his life was officially blown out.

Whatever great power resides up in the sky had allowed war to completely upend Klinger's and Bobbi's lives before.

Hopefully, the latest war wouldn't claim their souls for eternity.

* * *

**A/N: So I know this chapter is short and sort of like a filler, but it is necessary to set up the next part of the story. **

**Thank you to Winter Frost for your faithful reviewing on not just this story - but all of my M*A*S*H stories. I really do appreciate them and they inspire me to keep trucking on! **

**Also thanks to those of you who have followed or favorited this story since the last update. **

**As usual, thanks to all readers for taking the time out of your busy lives and reading my work! If you have any thoughts/constructive criticism - I do encourage you to leave a review. :) **


	9. Just too Tired

WARNING: Assault mentioned and foul language used.

* * *

Europe, 1943

Growing up, there was an old man named Tucker, who lived in Bobbi's hometown in Tennessee. Tucker lost his wife and four sons when their house caught on fire, back in the 1870's. It was custom in Glendon, for the wives of the town, to take turns baking him bread and desserts every Monday night. Then first thing Tuesday morning, they would bring the baked goods to his little log shack a mile and a half outside of town. The ladies would bring along all of their children that weren't old enough to be in school.

Bobbi was always confused about why her Ma brought this man food every six weeks. Nobody had ever told her why, old man Tucker lived alone in the woods. Moreover, nobody ever explained why he always sad when he wandered into town by himself.

None the less, Bobbi did enjoy these visits. Along with her Ma and old man Tucker; Bobbi enjoyed a cup of fresh milk and a slice of bread with honey, once they arrived. After the meal was over, things got a lot more interesting for Bobbi, because of having to sit and listen to her Ma and the man talk about grown up things – she could listen to the old time music they would sing. The old man was very skilled at picking the flattop guitar. Her Ma of course, would play her fiddle, or her mandolin depending on the mood she was in.

Bobbi enjoyed listening to the offbeat, soulful harmonies that the duo produced. But once in an awhile, old man Tucker would sing a song that her Ma said, was as old as the hills that they lived in, The song was about an old man whose entire family died from sickness. By the time he had reached the end of the tune, there were always tears rolling down his cheeks. He would then go inside to dry his eyes, before coming back outside onto the front porch.

One day when Bobbi was four years old, her innocent driven curiosity got the better of her, and she asked Tucker why he sings that song it makes him sad.

Before Bobbi's Ma could tell her to mind her own business; Tucker told Bobbi to come sit on his knee. He never explained what had happened to his family all those years ago – but he did give her some words of wisdom that Bobbi found herself thinking of those words as her entire world came crashing down on her in present day.

He told her to never take the ones she loves for granted, and to enjoy everyday of happiness she was blessed with. For, you never know when God could take it all away.

As Bobbi stood by the doorway inside of a wooden cattle car, she found herself briefly thinking about old man Tucker.

Everything she had once cared for had been taken away from her within a matter of a year and a half. And now the abnormal sense of normality she had with her inscription in the Navy, was stolen from her too.

The adrenaline surging through her veins heightened all of her senses. She was all too aware of the metallic, gut churning stench, of blood, feces and urine that invaded nostrils. She felt like she could read every expression on the faces of the various Allied, POW's at once.

The conversation inside the car had stopped the second the _Feldwebel,_ slammed the heavy steel door shut.

Bobbi's shock was beginning to wear off, so the pain of her injuries was starting to drive her to the point of agony. The bitter winter air was so sharp, that it felt like as if somebody was poking hundreds needles into her skin at once. Her hair that was dampened from the snow, was now frozen into several brittle slivers of thin ice. She could feel bruises starting to form where the two German had pinned her down with their strong hands. The small cut on her forehead burned, while the right side of her jaw ached where she was punched repetitively by the third solider. But most of all, her pelvic region ached like she had just been torn in two.

She felt how the men were eyeing her body from head to toe. She could see in their eyes that they knew why her white, Navy dress, was covered in slick mud and ice, and torn to shreds by her chest. Bobbi had her arms wrapped tightly around the region, but she knew that ultimately the fabric was too damaged for her modesty to be intact. Bobbi also saw some of the men's gaze trail downward on her legs, where small streaks, of half clotted, crimson, blood were contrasting the tone of her fair skin.

There were looks of disgust and horror, malice, anger, and finally just plain awestruck at the physical evidence of the feminine shrieks of pain and terror they heard just minutes ago.

Yes, Bobbi was all too aware of her situation… and it scared the _living shit_ out of her.

Just as quickly as the conversation among the men had ceased, it started up again in a roar. The only difference, was that this time, instead of talking about how they couldn't believe they were actually captured by the Germans – Bobbi was the topic of discussion.

She knew that she shouldn't cry. She needed to maintain a tough, emotionless demeanour for her own safety. However, her mind had finally reached the point where primal emotions won against logic and hot tears began to flow down her face.

Near the far, right hand corner of the car – Bobbi could see a head of black, curly hair begin to weave their way through the dense crowd.

The man, whom happened to be quite tall, began shouting out commands for the other men in the car to _"step the fuck aside"_ and to _"mind their own fucking business"_.

She began to tremble in fear, at the realization that the man was heading right for her. Bobbi recoiled in fear and took a step backward so that her back was pressed against the freezing bars steel door. She began to cry even harder, scared that the man intended to violate her body in the way that the German Sergeant had just done minutes ago.

Bobbi wanted to scream out in protest once he had reached her, but all she managed to do was bow her head to her chest – not wanting to look them in the eyes.

"Come, my child. I promise that I am not going to hurt you."

Despite the primal fear that seemed to clout all of Bobbi's other emotions; the quality of true sentiment in the stranger's voice gave her the courage to look up to him.

The dull yellow light of the lamps outside in the railway yard, seeped through the cracks of the splintered wooden boards of the walls of the train car just enough, so that she could make out this odd soldier's features.

His stature was quite lanky, but not all together unhandsome. His shoulders jutted out wide enough so that he didn't have a boyish figure to him.

He was definitely not a young fighting man. The lines and wrinkles around his brown eyes and mouth told her so. A covering of prickly salt and pepper hairs covered his cheeks, chin and upper neck. The black hair on the top of his head was tussled, yet slicked in a way that indicated to her that he hadn't bathed in a long while (neither had Bobbi for that matter).

By the sound of his voice, she figured that he wasn't an American like her. The red and yellow epaulette of the Soviet Union, sewed onto the collar of the long and heavy wool trench coat he wore confirmed her suspicion.

"W-wh-what do y-y-you want? Stay away from m-m-m-me." Bobbi asked in as calm a tone as she could muster. Her chattering teeth and fright caused her to stumble over her words.

"Nothing _deara hild. _I swear that I shall not hurt you," the older man assured her. He then quickly shed his trench and without a word handed it to Bobbi.

Words couldn't describe how grateful Bobbi felt for this stranger's kindness. A brief twinkle in her eyes was all the thanks that the Russian man needed.

Bobbi put the coat on and quickly fastened the buttons. The crisp winter air still wafted up from the bottom of the coat, but Bobbi didn't care – she was warmer than she had been since before that wretched torpedo had sunk the ship she was on.

Out of the darkness a man suddenly appeared beside the Russian, which obviously gave Bobbi a bit of a fright. Her momentary lapse of feeling safe, in such an unsafe environment, quickly corrected itself. Her heart began to pound faster and faster, as the two men began to quietly and quickly in converse in a language that Bobbi assumed to be Russian.

The second man stood about five and a half feet off of the ground. His black curly hair was as wild an untamed looking as a Bashkir horse. He has a beard to match the Russian man's, which told Bobbi they had been stuck behind enemy lines for a while. This man had dark green eyes, chiselled cheeks and a nose that was rather on the large side.

Bobbi stood there for about a minute, baffled by whatever the men were saying to each other. After a minute or so, they both nodded their heads in a purposeful fashion. The men then turned their attentions back towards Bobbi. The second, shorter man addressed her first.

"I'm Jack, Jack Cohen – and this here is Nikolai," the man introduced himself and the Russian. His accent wasn't as think as Nikolai's was, but it was still noticeable. Oddly enough, Bobbi thought she heard a hint of a Southern accent in his tone as well. "Things are about to crazy here in a minute or so, but you stick with us and were going to get you out of this mess and get you cleaned up. Okay sweetheart?"

Bobbi didn't have a chance to even open her mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking about; the sound of rifle and machine gun fire erupted like thunder.

The next thing she knew, the heavy doors behind her were ripped open from the outside. A pain like she had never felt before suddenly radiated from her foot. She looked down saw blood oozing out from her left ankle and let out a shriek of terror. Bobbi did however, here the whiz of the second bullet that penetrated her body. Her body crumpled like an accordion at her gut. Thankfully Nikolai scooped her up into his arms.

Bobbi didn't even notice when Nikolai jumped down out of the train car, and began to ran towards woods to the east. She simply watched the snow fall from night sky above, thought about how she was never going to Max Klinger, ever again.

A soul crushing feeling of remorse was her last coherent thought, before the world went black. For, the first time in her life; she understood the sorrow old man Tucker's eyes.

Never take the blessing in your life for granted – for you never know when they will be stolen away.

* * *

"Hey Bobbi – HEY WAKE UP BOBBI." The sound of Max's worry stricken voice ended the darkness of her dream about a time that seemed a million years ago.

Bobbi gasped for breath as her eyes flung open. She felt very, very cold, though her pajama's were dampened with sweat. The world spun slowly in an odd fashion. She could her dully Max yelling for a doctor.

She recognized Trapper's basic facial features hovering above her face alongside Max's. Bobbi felt a slight jostling as somebody lifted up the corner of her bandaged on her leg wound. Something was said about too much puss in the wound, by Trapper. One of them began to yell out orders to a nurse, but he hearing faded to a muffled hum.

Trapper and Max, tried to get her attention, but she just had to close her eyes. She was tired… just too tired. Too tired of feel broken inside and out.

Most of her friends were dead, or soon to be dead because of the war.

The only man she ever loved was married to another woman.

She only had one family member left, and he was thousands of miles away.

Maybe, just maybe when she woke up again - she'd find that the Lord would have taken her pain away for good this time...

* * *

**Translations**

**Deara hild: dear child (Russian)**

**Feldwebel : Sergeant (German)**

* * *

**Author's note:** Hi there! So I apologize it's been like three months since I've updated this story – or anything else for that matter. My college program has been keeping me busier than I like! And then my laptop died and I had to wait quite a few weeks to get a new one.

But I got a brand new laptop now, so yay! The semester is staring to wind down so hopefully I can start updating again.

I'd love to hear your feedback in the reviews, about what you thought about the flashback and the ending of the chapter!

Thank you to all my reviewers, and the people that have favorited or followed this story since I last updated!


	10. Good News & Coming Back to Reality

An urgent sounding rapping on Father Mulcahy's tent door woke him up from the first deep sleep he had gotten in weeks.

He took a few seconds to himself silently tell his boss up in the sky, "I know that I vowed to serve you and help others honor your divine presence here on Earth – especially here in Korea. But once, just once, I beg you to let me sleep through the night in peace!"

Having said his bit, he begrudgingly rolled himself out of his cot, picked up his glasses from the nightstand, and put them on. After slipping his feet into his slippers and shrugging on his bathrobe, he walked to the door. Right before he was about to open it, the person on the other side of the door knocked a few times more. This series of knocks far surpassed the sense of urgency of the first – these were just down right aggressive.

"Alright, already! Cool your cucumbers," the priest cried out in annoyance. He generally didn't burst out like that, but his lack of sleep got the better of him.

Once he opened the door, he was surprised to see the orderly Goldman standing there.

"Sorry to wake you Father Mulcahy, but you are required in the O.R. right away."

"Is it more wounded?" Mulcahy inquired. Wounded would always be his first guess as to why somebody would be waking him up so late at night.

"No Father. Dr. McIntyre had to take Captain Morango back into the O.R."

"Oh my," Mulcahy gasped, suddenly overcome by guilt for acting so selfishly a second ago. "Thanks, Goldman - I'll be over there in a jiffy."

Goldman nodded and walked away to do whatever his next task was.

Father Mulcahy spun around, grabbed his last rights kit, and bounded off to the O.R. without bothering to change into proper clothes. As he jogged the short distance across the compound to the hospital, he silently prayed to the Lord, to not call Bobbi home.

* * *

When Nurse Shepherd woke Hawkeye, out the thirteenth hour of his gin induced (but well deserved) slumber; he expected her to tell him that a fresh batch of casualties had just arrived. When the synapses in his brain had finally begun to fire fully, he quickly realized the gravity the information which Lieutenant Shepherd, had just relayed to him.

Bobbi was about to go into renal failure and was toxemic. Trapper needed his help to try and stabilize her before it was too late.

Hawkeye sighed deeply before he pushed open the swinging doors that connected the scrub room to the O.R. When he walked into the room, he saw Nurse Brooks monitoring Captain Morango's vital signs, all while keeping an eye on the blood and saline solution which were entering her body intravenously.

Nurse Shepherd had somehow beat him to the O.R. and was busy grabbing the surgical instrument packs which he and Trapper may require.

"What the hell happened Trap? I thought she was stable at only a few hours ago," Hawkeye made his presence known as he walked up to the surgical table.

Trapper was on the opposite side of the table, holding out his arms so that a nurse could gown and glove him. Turning his head over his left shoulder, he replied, "I have no idea. She started to become restless and unresponsive. I ordered a CBC and by the time the lab was finished with it, I didn't need no damn results to tell me that she was toxemic. Apparently there was an abundance of Staphylococcus present in the sample."

"All thanks to Frank and his wonder bedside manner," Hawkeye scowled, feeling his blood boil with rage. Bobbi was in rough shape as it was. The last thing she needed was to battle a staph infection.

After being gowned and gloved himself, Hawkeye stepped up to the table. His face fell like a boulder off of a mountain, when he saw the red swelling and the numerous white pustules around her incision site. He looked up to Trapper in horrification and anger. The expression in Trapper's dark brown eyes told him that they were on the same page.

If this procedure didn't work, and by some miracle she didn't die on the table from renal failure – then Frank might not get beaten to death by Trapper and himself.

* * *

The air in the O.R. was filled heavy tension, as Trapper and Hawkeye diligently worked to clean out the bloody, dark yellow pus from Bobbi's wound. The heavy silence was broken, though, when Father Mulcahy emerged from the scrub room. He was breathing heavy and tying up the top string of his mask as he approached the surgeons.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I rushed over here as fast I could," Mulcahy blurted out, feeling the need to explain himself. He stood to the right of Hawkeye and peaked over his shoulder to get a look at what the surgeons were up against. "Oh, my word!" Mulcahy exclaimed at the grotesque sight of the infected wound. Without even thinking about it, he crossed himself and quietly recited a blessing.

"Oh, my word is right, Father. And you can thank Frank's Burns' medical incompetency for this," Hawkeye quipped.

"Do you think she's going to lose the leg?" Mulcahy asked no one surgeon in particular.

"We're doing everything we can now to make sure that she doesn't," Hawkeye replied.

"She's only a god damn hair width away from having gangrene form though," Trapper added in, without looking up from what he was doing.

"Oh my," Father Mulcahy sighed. The apparent anger and overwhelming frustration that Trapper was feeling, was conveyed to the priest, thought his tone of voice.

Without being told to, Father Mulcahy stepped aside and began to pray for Bobbi's speedy recovery – not just for her sake – but for the sake of the doctors, and Klinger as well.

* * *

Klinger sat on a stool at the bar of the Officers club with a shot glass in one hand, and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

For a few minutes after Bobbi was whisked away, he sat on the empty crate he was using as a stool beside her bed, trying to get over his fear about what had just witnessed. How much more could Bobbi's body handle?

His nerves were beyond frayed thanks to the past few days. He decided that there was no way in hell that he could wait for the Trapper to emerge in bloodied scrubs from surgery, to tell Klinger whether or not Bobbi was alive or not while he was sober.

So there he was, quickly tying one on, to avoid feeling the impact of the terror consuming his body and mind. As the burning, warm liquor he traveled down his throat – he let the fuzzy, floating feeling of alcoholic carelessness, grab the reigns of his mind.

* * *

The operation was a success, and Bobbi was back resting in her bunk in Post Op. Trapper, of course, was sitting by her side, waiting for her hopefully regain consciousness.

Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy sat slumped on the bench on the men's side of the changing area, in the scrub room.

"Father, am I right to be worried for Trapper right now?" Hawkeye questioned. in a gravelly tone of voice, thanks to his exhaustion.

Father Mulcahy wanted to say that there was no need to and that everything was going to be okay. He knew Hawkeye well enough, though, that if he had asked him for advice in a serious manner, that Hawkeye had already made up his mind. He just needed to hear the truth from somebody else's lips.

"I'm afraid that you are Hawkeye..."

Before anything else could be said, the curtain was suddenly ripped back and Henry Blake step in front of the two men on the bench.

"Will somebody here tell what in tarnation is going on around here? I mean it's three in the blessed morning and this place is jumping like the Atlantic City boardwalk on the fourth of July!" Henry exclaimed, shaking his hands in front of him out of excitement.

Both Hawkeye and Mulcahy gave their C.O a look of total wonderment.

"Uh huh," Henry sighed aside.

Just as Henry thought that he needed to go wake up Radar to help him out – the short Iowan appeared seemingly out of thin air. He looked quite disheveled in his bathrobe, with his sandy hair wildly pointing out in all directions thanks to the absence of his wool cap.

"Colonel you're needed in the Officer's Club P.D.Q!" Radar blurted out while trying to catch his breath.

"Radar what's the matter?" Mulcahy asked intently as he stood up.

"It's Klinger, Sir's – er and Father. Please hurry! I think might be at war the Marine's if we don't!"

Henry, Hawkeye, and the Father all rushed after Radar and followed him to the Officers club. Once they all screeched to a halt inside, they stood in awe as they watched khaki-clad Marine's and their fellow 4077th comrade's brawl. It looked like a modern day equivalent of a saloon brawl in the old west. Chairs were being smashed over heads, glasses were flying through the air like artillery rounds, and men were being thrown against the walls causing the walls to dent and crack.

"Incoming!"

Hawkeye's alerted yelp brought the other's out of their enchantment, and all at the same time – they ducked to miss being hit in the face by a flying beer bottle.

Almost getting his face redecorated by the Army's version of a plastic surgeon made Henry lose the last bit of patience (not to mention sanity) he had left. Without fear, walked over to the nearest, still intact chair and stood up on it. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistled loud enough to get the fighting men to stop what they were doing, mid punch.

"You people better knock it off, or I can assure you that you will be using your hands to make license plates for the rest of your lives instead of beating the stuffing out of each other!" The pure anger in Henry's tone was more than enough to convince the perpetrators to halt their violence. Henry's eyes scanned the room once to make sure he had the attention of the men before he spoke again. "I wanna know right now, who started this racket!"

Both the Marines and 4077th men looked at one another before they simultaneously pointed their fingers at the body slumped against the back wall by the slot machines.

"That's the guy!" One Marine announced.

"Yeah that guy with the glacier for a nose is the man who poured his drink all over my head!" A mammoth of a Marine with wet hair and a cut on his cheek the length of a thumb.

"Alright, everybody else except Klinger get the _hell_ out of here!" Henry shouted.

The irritation he felt increased tenfold when Max Klinger was fingered as the culprit. It seemed that ever since Captain Morango had arrived, the usually kooky Corporal had actually gone off of the deep end for real.

Henry stepped down from his perch and trailed Hawkeye, Radar, and Mulcahy over to where Klinger was. He knelt down on the opposite side of Hawkeye, as they both examined the numerous little cuts in Klinger's scalp and face for shards of glass.

"Klinger you smell like you just fell into a barrel of whiskey." Hawkeye quipped as he finished his examination of the drunken Corporal.

Klinger attempted to reply, but all that came out were slurred sounds that slightly resembled syllables.

"Hawkeye, you and the Father clean him up, put him to bed in his tent," Henry ordered after he too determined that there were no serious injuries sustained by Klinger. He stood up and pointed to Klinger "I'll put his butt in a sling tomorrow."

The Doctor and the Priest nodded, and then slung one of Klinger's arm around their necks and began to drag him away from the scene of the crime.

"Radar, go and –"

"I'll go wake Major Burns and Houlihan to help you treat the men wounded from the fight." Radar read his C.O.'s mind and finished the sentence for him.

As Radar scurried away in a purposeful passion, Henery couldn't help but sigh.

"_I am in charge of a three ringed circus," _he thought to himself before sauntering out of the deserted wreck of an Officer's Club.

* * *

Henry sat at his desk, with a large scotch in his hand and his feet crossed and resting upon his desk. As he watched the pink sunrise through the window to his left, he enjoyed the first quiet alone time he had had in days.

This of course only lasted a brief moment, as it usually did, thanks to somebody barging uninvited into his office. This somebody was Hawkeye Pierce this time.

"Klinger's all stitched up, showered and passed out in his tent, Henry," Hawkeye announced as he made helped himself to Henry's liquor cabinet. After selecting a bottle of Canadian whiskey, he sat down in a chair on the opposite side of Henry's desk and took a swig right from the bottle. After releasing a satisfied sound from his throat which signaled his thirst for liquor had been quenched, he told Henry, "You know my draft board never said anything about having to sober up cross-dressing, Uncle Sam loathing Corporals in my draft letter. I should ask for a raise."

"Did Klinger say anything as to why he thought it'd be a good idea to fight with a 6'5 Marine?" Henry asked, ignoring Hawkeye's purposefully insolent wisecrack.

"When the Padre and I had finally got him to bed, he said something about what he did during the last war was nobody's business but his."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Henry asked half curiously and half out of irritation.

"Beats me, Henry, probably just the booze running upstream to his brain." Hawkeye didn't think much of the drunken Lebanese's comments.

"You're probably right about that Pierce." Henry agreed as he poured himself another drink, so that he could face what was inevitably going to be a day full of being yelled at by Major Houlihan and Burns…

* * *

_Two Days Later_

"And then my wife wrote me and told me that my Uncle who is a pig farmer would be willing to teach me the tricks of the trade if I wanted to take over his business when I came home from after the war! Can you believe that Klinger?"

Klinger sighed quietly in annoyance before replying to the talkative private.

"Yeah, that's just wonderful, Igor. Now if you don't mind, shut your yap so we can finish digging this latrine and I can get onto my next punishment."

"Yeesh what's eating you, Klinger," Igor asked sardonically before returning to digging himself.

"I'll tell ya what's eating me, Igor," Klinger let him temper go. "I've been sentenced to endless weeks of extra duties all thanks to the fact that I decided I wouldn't let some Neanderthal of a Marine tell me that just because I refused to kill guys in the last war, I am less of a man."

Before Klinger could keep on ranting, a nurse screeched to half at the base of the hole they were digging causing a pile of dirt to rain down on his and Igor's head.

"Eh, what's the big idea here?" Igor scoffed as he dropped his shovel and began to pat the dirt out of his uniform and hair.

"Captain Pierce told me to come and fetch you, Klinger. You're needed in Post-OP right away. It's about Captain Morango." The nurse said, ignoring the irate Private.

Instantly, Klinger's heart rate sped up at the news. Bobbi had been in a coma ever since Captain McIntyre took her into surgery for the second time to clean her out her wound. There were signs that her infection was beginning to clear up, but Trapper had warned him that her life was hanging in the balance. She was either going to wake up from her coma, or she wasn't.

Fearing the latter in the present moment; Klinger threw down his shovel, clambered out of the hole, and sprinted across the compound to Post-OP. He didn't slow down until he was at the entrance of the opening of the screens that shielded Bobbi from the rest of Post-OP. He amazed and relieved to see that he wasn't beckoned by Hawkeye, to come and say goodbye to his darling, while doctors tried to resuscitate her and Father Mulcahy gave her the last rights.

Instead, Hawkeye was standing at the end of her bed filling out her chart, and chattering away at the now clear-eyed, fully conscious woman.

"Bobbi?" Max asked in disbelief. He hoped that this wasn't some sort of cruel dream, and he'd wake up slumped against the wall on the crate beside her bed like he had done numerous times in the past few days.

"Ah, there you are. I'll let you two catch up." Hawkeye chimed to Bobbi he finished what he was writing and left the two to be alone.

Klinger took his perch on his usual crate beside her bed and grabbed her hand out of instinct. The action made Bobbi turn her head to look at her old boyfriend.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see that you're awake," Max smiled genuinely.

"Max," Bobbi tried to interrupt him in her hoarse voice.

"What did the Doctors say? Are you going to be able to walk again?" Klinger just kept on talking.

"Max please," Bobbi spoke up again. This time, it caught Klinger's attention, and he stopped talking. The seriousness of her expression and the glimmer of sorrow in his eyes made his elated mood vanish.

"I know that you married, Laverne."

* * *

**Author's note: Hi there. So yes I know it's been months again. School just kicked my butt. However I am on week 3 of my 4 week practicum and after that, I have all summer to write! :D **

**I'm so excited to have finally gotten to this point in the story because now stuff is about the hit the preverbal fan! **

**Also I am going to update my playlist for each chapter finally today as well, so check out my homepage if you'd like. I can't wait to write more of this story and my other unfinished ones!**

**Thanks for reading and please review! :) **


	11. That Damned War

Maxwell Klinger was always a man whose mouth had gotten him into a lot of trouble. The natural order of events would be that to not get caught (or get himself out of a sticky situation after being caught), he'd start to spout preverbal diarrhea. At this particular moment, though, he was speechless.

He had assumed that Bobbi had figured out, that he had completed her total humiliation and betrayal by marrying, Laverne. Hearing his old sweetheart say those words, ironically made him recognize the impact of his decision.

All Max had wanted for the past few days was for Bobbi to wake up, clear-eyed and coherent. But after seeing the sorrow that had, and still was, tormenting her – he wished she had remained in her coma for a little while longer.

Before Klinger could open his mouth and somehow skew the situation further, an interruption in the form of Dr. Trapper John Xavier McIntyre appeared.

."When Hawkeye woke me up just now, ranting that you were awake – I thought he was joking," Trapper explained with his signature, sideways grin plastered across his face.

Bobbi turned her attention from her ex-boyfriend to Trapper. Half joking, half serious; Bobbi replied, "No, this is the real thing… I hope."

Trapper took a seat on the edge of her bed, opposite to Klinger. "I guess I'm not such a lousy doctor after all."

"No, no, I suppose not," Bobbi couldn't help but to return Trapper's smile. There was something enchantingly childish about it.

Still reeling in shock from the impact of Bobbi's comment, Klinger needed to get away from the situation – and fast. After he had cleared his throat, he mumbled that he had a latrine to finish digging and swiftly left the scene.

A a short pause later, Trapper continued to speak, "So how are you feeling? Are you in any pain? I can get the nurse to get you some morphine if you are. It's been," Trapper paused to check his wristwatch, "about an hour since your last dose."

"My leg feels a little achy, but I'll take that over what I felt on that chopper pad, or after the accident…"

Trapper's face fell at the mention of Major Burns' incompetency. He felt the raging fury he had been living with for the past few days begin to boil up to the surface again. He knew that it would not do any good to let his Irish temper flare in front of his patient – who not to mention – still had a long road to recovery ahead of her. So, Trapper got up and excused himself to get her some morphine. After giving her the medication, the glaze became apparent in her eyes once again.

."You should try to get some more rest. I'll be back later tonight for my shift, though," Trapper said while gently giving her hand a squeeze.

Trapper had disposed of the used needle and syringe before he headed into Radar's office. He was elated with the fact that Bobbi had come out of the worst of it but felt a sense of dread knowing the long road of recovery ahead of her.

When Trapper walked in; Hawkeye was busy directing Radar, on how to file some patient paperwork. When Hawkeye saw Trapper walk in, he told him smiling, "See I told you I wasn't lying. The girl is awake and everything."

"Yeah, yeah," Trapper replied while dismissing Hawkeye's sarcastic remark with a wave of his hand.

"Glad to hear your patient is going to be okay, sir," Radar gave his congratulations to Trapper.

"Thanks, kid," Trapper replied. "Hey has her 201 files come in yet from H.Q.?"

"No, not yet sir."

"Damn, what's the holdup?" Trapper quipped in irritation. "You have been calling them every day like I've been telling you to?"

"Yes, sir I have. I just keep getting told that the request is pending."

"What's going on down there – a sudden deluge of incoming file requests? Wouldn't that make a good newsreel, _Korea 1951 – The year of paper warfare._." Hawkeye couldn't help but go off on a small tangent.

."Well, tell them to get their butts in gear, Radar. I want to know what the hell she was doing assigned to the front, and for how long she was up there for." Trapper asserted himself to the clerk.

"Yes, sir."

Just then the door to the compound swung open, and none other than Major's Burns and Houlihan walked in. Both of the Majors stopped and gave the Captains and the Corporal looks of disdain.

Margaret pursed her lips and straightened out her posture. Frank noted his lover's change in demeanor and mimicked her actions.

"Two superior officer's just entered the room – where are your salutes?" Margaret demanded in a scathing tone.

Radar's understandable fear Major Houlihan's wrath made him automatically snap his right arm up into a salute. Hawkeye puffed his chest out and gave them his signature mock salute. Trapper on the other hand just stood there with his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, can it Major. The only thing superior is your persistence in pretending you're human," Trapper jabbed.

"I'll pretend that didn't just happen, _Captain. _Your patient is in enough trouble as it is, lying about her gender to get sent to the front lines," Margaret shot back.

"What a sad, unfulfilled, women she must be, to feel the need to do some so unconventional. Not to mention the fact that she is a bit screwy in the head, keeping company with men like Klinger and such," Frank couldn't hold his tongue.

Trapper reacted immediately and stepped forward so that his nose was almost touching Frank's. His hands were clenched into fists, by his sides. "What did you just say?" he growled.

"Hey, hey, hey – he isn't worth it Trap," Hawkeye tried to deflate Trapper as he stepped in between his buddy and his arch nemesis. "Besides, he already had his face rearranged by Klinger – remember? Eight to life making license plates in Leavenworth isn't what you signed up for in medical school."

After a tense moment, Trapper realized that as annoying as it was – his friend was right. Just like when he wanted to beat Frank within an inch of his life right after Bobbi's accident. Frank Burns wasn't worth him receiving a dishonorable discharge and time in prison. He unclenched his fist and stormed out of the office into the compound before he did something he might later regret.

Trapper didn't have duty until midnight, so, heading in terms of the Swamp for a few stiff belts were definitely on his agenda. Once he got back to the canvas covered cesspool he called home – he poured himself a drink and then sat down on his bunk. He noticed that while Trapper must have been with Bobbi; Radar had dropped off his mail. The first letter was addressed to him from his Congressman, which he obviously threw aside. The second letter was more relevant, but not much regarding being pleasant. It was from Louise.

Aside from the odd news about Cathy or Becky, his wife's letters seemed to be cold and impersonal, or, all she did was complain.

Trapper figured he might as well get it over with and see what Louise had in store for him this time. He finished the rest of his martini with one large swig and proceeded to read the letter. When he unfolded the letter, a receipt from an appliance repair shop for seventy dollars fell out onto his lap. Trapper sighed, already dreading what else Louise's letter contained.

_Dear John, _

_Last week a fuse in the stove blew out, so the oven was no longer working properly. It happened Sunday afternoon, right before I was about to put the pot roast and vegetables into the oven for that dinner I had been planning for your both of our parents, and your sister and her new beau Donald. We ended up having to move the whole meal to your parent's house after I had set up the table and decorations at our house. _

_While I was helping your Mother prepare the meal I was inevitably questioned by her, as to when you were coming home, and why you didn't think to check into things like the fuses in the stove before you left for Korea. _

_You know that she and I don't agree on much, but I do agree with her on this issue. Last month it was the gutters on the roof that needed replacing, then a few weeks before that old hunk of metal you called a functioning washing machine gave out. _

_When are you coming home, John? This is not what I signed up for when I agreed married. All of these household problems, not to mention the fact that our bank account is draining faster than you drinking a bottle of old scotch – is just getting to be too much. _

_I don't know how much more I can take. _

_The girls miss their Father, and I am getting fed up being both the women and man of the household._

_Louise_

Trapper felt disgusted and hurt by Louise's letter. She made it sound like he _chose _to come to Korea. That he wanted to just up and leave his home and his girls to live in a warzone. It also pissed him off that she was complaining about the state of their bank account. He sent home three-quarters of his paycheck every month. Most of the time he didn't even have enough money to pay his bar tab or buy a bar of soap and shampoo for himself at the PX. He always made sure that he sent home enough money so that his wife and girls wouldn't be without food, clean clothes, or a roof over their heads.

He crumpled up the letter and threw it into the waste can beside his bed. If he didn't need another drink before – he certainly did after reading Louise's letter.

* * *

Hawkeye had waited until Trapper had stormed out of the office before laying into Frank and Margaret. He knew that his friend's mind was weighed down by many troubles as of late, and the last thing he needed was to be harassed by two Major's with morals made of sand.

"Why don't you two back off for 's bad enough Jack the Ripper here almost killed Trapper's patient. And how about we hold off judgment on the girl in there – whom almost lost her life several times in the past few days – until her very livelihood doesn't depend on the bottles of fluids and blood entering her body through tubes!"

"Captain Pierce, you are way out of line here." Margaret roared back at the insolent surgeon, "Major Burns was viciously assaulted, and it was all because that women in the wrong place at the wrong time. Colonel Blake refuses our request to Court Marshal that pervert Klinger, but just you wait – justice will be served."

"That's right Pierce. We have already told the General all about what has transpired here in the past few days, and he is so disgusted by it, that he is talking with the J.A.G. to try and get an investigator get sent up here," Frank was more than happy to expand on Margaret's statement.

"You two are unbelievable!" Hawkeye cried out. "Good luck with that ever happening."

"We didn't come here to listen to your sassy-jabber, Pierce. We were on our way to meet with the Colonel, out of our way!" Frank demanded as he pushed past Hawkeye and made his way into Henry's office.

Margaret, of course, followed Frank's lead and gave Hawkeye a self-satisfied smirk as he walked past.

"Radar I have to go back to Post-OP, but you let me know what those ghouls talk about in there with Henry. I want every last, detail about what they are planning," Hawkeye instructed the company clerk who witnessed the entire argument.

"Of course, Hawk," Radar responded with a nod of his head.

Radar's feeling that things were about to go off the rails which had been growing in his mind over the past few days had just come true.

This was going to be all out warfare.

* * *

Bobbi had no idea how long she had been asleep for when she opened her eyes next. All of the ceiling lights were still on, so she assumed it was still light outside. The floaty feeling caused by the morphine Trapper had administered still lingered but was much less potent than before.

As soon as her vision focused her found an older looking, blond nurse sitting on the side of her bed, checking reapplying the tape that held her IV lines to her wrist.

"Who are you," Bobbi muttered. The exhaustion and hoarseness in her voice surprised her for a moment.

"My name's Major Houlihan. How are you feeling?"

Hearing her name, Bobbi put her guard up remembering all of the horrible things; Major Houlihan had done which Klinger wrote to Bobbi about. Not to mention the fact that Margaret's sense of false friendliness made her very uneasy.

"What do you think?" Bobbi asked rhetorically, in a very bitter way.

"Are you in any pain?" Margaret responded, not giving in.

"No," Bobbi told the truth.

"I am glad to hear that. You've given the staff here quite a scare and shock lately."

"So I've been told…" Bobbi grumbled. She wished that she would leave her alone.

Margaret raised her eyebrows at Bobbi's clear agitation and decided just to get on with it.

"I need to ask you, Captain – do you remember what happened when Major Burns began to remove your stitches?"

Bobbi felt her agitation quickly morph into anger. Does she remember? How that hell could she not?

"I'm not going to help you try to get Major Burns out of the trouble he's in Major. I don't know you, but Max has told me enough about the two of you that this talk isn't innocent," Bobbi said, trying her best not to lash out.

Margaret realized that Bobbi wasn't going to be easy to crack. So, she decided to step up the game a bit.

"How long were you at that aid station for, Captain? What is the regular unit you're assigned to?"

The ever growing rage and anxiety that Bobbi felt bubbling up to the surface began to overtake her. Who the hell did this woman think she is. She didn't need to answer the Major's questions, which she had no right to ask in the first place.

"Finish what you're doing and go away Major," Bobbi requested.

"I don't see what I've done to upset you, Captain," Margaret played dumb. "Why would you believe a person like _Corporal Klinger_, about his thoughts on others. How do you him anyways?"

Mentioning Max brought Bobbi's anger to its peak. Even though he had betrayed more than she had ever thought possible – nobody still could talk bad about him to her. Bobbi felt bad about what she had said to earlier, and that combined with the fact that this stranger was interrogating her like she was under oath drove her over the edge.

"Get out you bitch! Get out!" Bobbi shouted, with adrenaline coursing through her. She reached her away from Margaret, grabbed the small metal surgical bowl on the stand beside her and threw it at her. Bobbi missed however, and the bowl landed a few to right and behind Margaret, with a loud clang.

Hearing the ruckus from the other side of Post OP, Hawkeye came running into Bobbi's enclosed area.

Bobbi heard fierce arguing ensue between the two of them, but shut her eyes and tried to focus on something else. She turned her head the side and began cry, grieving for the how her life had ended up the way it had.

* * *

It was one fifteen minutes past midnight when Trapper looked in on Bobbi next. He had just finished his initial rounds, and she was the last patient to see. Trapper was surprised to find her awake and staring with teary eyes at the ceiling.

"Hey, what are those for," Trapper asked softly and he sat down on the side of her bed. "This isn't about what happened this afternoon with Major Houlihan."

Bobbi let out a weak laugh and turned her head to look at Trapper. She didn't know if it was the warm energy he gave off, the drugs in her body, or if she just didn't give a damn anymore – but she let her true feelings show through.

"It's not that. I'm just wondering how I ended up where I am today. I know how I got here, it was one bad decision that is still dictating my life xxx years later. It's astounding how life can turn out so differently than I ever thought possible. It wrong… just wrong." Bobbi began to cry harder.

Bobbi's words had struck a nerve with him. Her thoughts matched exactly what his were hours before after he had finished reading Louise's letter

Trapper carefully sat her up and rubbed her back he held her close to his chest. He rubbed her back in an attempt to sooth her.

He was planning on telling her that he had spent most of the evening in Colonel Blake's presence, while he and Hawkeye argued with Frank and Margaret. He and Hawkeye had lost the fight and tomorrow morning; Bobbi was to be evaluated by a psychiatrist to see whether or not she is fit to be charged with attempted assault on an officer.

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_**A/N: Thanks for reading &amp; please review.**_


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